


Last But Not Lost

by KatieSkarlette



Series: Wrathion's Life Story [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Major Illness, Malnutrition, Original Character(s), Orphans, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieSkarlette/pseuds/KatieSkarlette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a mysterious illness threatens the Black Prince’s life and Anduin’s healing skills aren’t strong enough to save him, Wrathion’s only hope may lie with a member of his least favorite dragonflight…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Despite the best efforts of the afternoon sun, the fog never completely burned away from the Veiled Stair.  It was a quiet day at the Tavern in the Mists, although if Wrathion listened closely he could hear bids being shouted, fast and furious, at the Black Market Auction House across the way.  For the moment, he was content to sit at his usual table and study the latest collection of mogu sigils delivered by one of the adventurers in his employ.

Most artifacts of similar age were hand-carved and thus each slightly different.  Not so with the mogu's medallions.  Underneath centuries of wear, they were identical, as if stamped from a machine.  And, knowing what he did about the mogu and their origins, this made perfect sense.

The Black Prince squinted through a magnifying glass at one of the sigils found in the mantid empress' palace.  It was curious that the mantid hoarded mogu talismans.  Spoils of war, perhaps?

For the third time that day, he suddenly had the eerie, prickly feeling of being watched.  He put down the magnifying glass and glanced around the tavern.  There were only Tong, Left, Right and his other Blacktalon agents.  There weren't even any adventurers passing through at the moment.

Wrathion frowned.  Some measure of paranoia had been with him since before he even hatched.  Multiple kidnapping and assassination attempts tended to do that to a dragon.  Since arriving in Pandaria he had felt much more secure, however.  The rest of the black dragonflight had been purged, and he had done his best to ingratiate himself to the other powers of the world.  Still, that didn't mean he was without enemies...

This line of thought wasn't doing anything to quell the headache that had been throbbing deep in his skull all day.  He sighed and returned to his studies, reassured by the sight of Blacktalon agents silently guarding every inch of the tavern.

He had just returned his concentration to mogu manufacturing techniques when sound of a scuffle reached him from somewhere outside.   Considering the types who sometimes frequented the Black Market Auction House, not to mention the hostile saurok further up the mountain, this wasn't all that unusual.   Yet several of the voices were familiar...

Wrathion stood up and went to the back door of the tavern to investigate.  Sure enough, three of his agents were struggling to subdue a female blood elf.  She was defending herself with flashes of golden light and bursts of flame.  It took only a moment for Wrathion to remember where he had encountered that variety of magic before.  A whiff of her scent on the breeze confirmed it:  this was a red dragon.

His heart leapt into his throat and he took a step back before regaining his poise.  If this red was powerful enough to defeat his guards she would have done so by now.  As it was, she was clearly running out of steam.  One of the Blacktalons who actually _was_ a blood elf blocked her spellcasting, and a human and worgen were able to get close enough to pounce on her.  They were almost certainly unaware of her true form, but to Wrathion's surprise she did not shapeshift in an attempt to escape.  Instead she seemed to simply give up, slumping as dead weight in their grasp.

Curiosity tempered his fear as he watched them bind her limbs and carry her toward the tavern.  Wrathion stepped aside as they brought her inside and dropped her none-too-gently at his feet.

"Well, well," he said, looking down at the limp form on the floor.  "What do we have here?"

The worgen Blacktalon agent spoke up.  "We found her sneaking around outside, watching the tavern with a spyglass from up the mountainside."

"Just when I thought they had actually given up," he muttered to himself, studying her with a critical eye.

Visually, she appeared to be a pretty sindorei barely old enough to be considered an adult.  Her apple-red hair was bound up in twin boartails and her ears were pierced by several gold loops and bangles.  Her dress of red silk trimmed with gold offered nothing in the way of real armor.   Yet as the Black Prince gazed down at her, there was no mistaking her as a mere elf.  His senses were never wrong.

The intruder regained her wits and awkwardly attempted to sit up despite the ropes around her wrists and ankles.  When she opened her eyes, he noticed they were a luminous gold instead of the green or blue elves usually had.  "I mean you no harm," she said in Common without a trace of an elven accent.  "I was just...curious."

"The doors are open to any weary traveler who passes through," Wrathion said calmly.  "No one would have stopped you from walking in and ordering a drink, if you chose."

"I...don't trust you," she said reluctantly.

"No, I don't suppose you would, considering... _what you are._ "  He spoke the last bit in draconic, and she blanched at the realization that he recognized her true species.  "I had thought the erstwhile Life Binder was through trying to meddle with my life.  I thought I had made my independence _quite_ clear."  His eyes flared a brighter red.

She shrank back from the implied threat, shaking her head.   "I'm here on my own.  No one sent me."

"Oh?  Why?"  He folded his arms on his chest and glared down at her suspiciously.

"I..."  She dropped her gaze to the floor.   "My mother died to ensure you would live.  I wanted to see what her sacrifice bought."

"Your mother...?"  Wrathion's expression shifted from anger to astonishment.  "You are Rheastrasza's daughter?"

She nodded.  "My name is Cybelastrasza."

To their credit, the gathered Blacktalon agents made no sound, but they were clearly surprised that she was actually a dragon.

She smiled hopefully as if expecting him to welcome her with open arms.

Wrathion exhaled slowly, recalling his earliest memories.   " _Your_ mother imprisoned _my_ mother, stole her eggs and subjected them to twisted, often fatal, experiments.  And, when she had outlived her usefulness, she had her killed.  Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have my servants throw you down the Path of a Hundred Steps."

Cybela looked bewildered by his reaction.  "She was trying to save your flight!"  She managed to stand, stumbling as her bound wrists threw her off balance.  "She wanted to free you from the Old Gods' corruption!   You ungrateful little--"

One of the Blacktalons grabbed her roughly by the back of her dress and yanked her away from the Black Prince.

"I cannot deny the fact that I owe my very existence to Rheastrasza," Wrathion said airily.  "I will even admit that she meant well.  Certainly laying down her own life to protect her work--"

"To protect _you_!" Cybela interjected.

"Yes, me."  He smirked, laying a hand on the chest of his regal outfit.  "Her sacrifice was admirable, even if her methods were most certainly _not_.  I'm quite sure my mother never volunteered for her sickening experiments.  Be that as it may, the rest of the red dragonflight was even less benevolent.   First, they tried to hold me prisoner.  When I finally had my freedom, they tried to kidnap me.  After that failed, they returned and tried to kill me."

From the look on Cybela's face, this was new information to her.  "What?  Why?"

"Why?" he scoffed.  "Because I refused to play their games.  They wanted me as their captive, to be raised in accordance with _their_ plans for the future of dragonkind.  That was, to put it mildly, unacceptable."   The volume of his voice increased in his vehemence.  "I am my own dragon, and I wish to be left alone.   A wish, I might add, that I will enforce by any means necessary."

She looked close to tears.  "I don't mean you any harm.  Truly!  I just had to see you.   To see what my mother gave up her life for.  To see what was more important than my siblings and me."

"Well, now you have seen me, so you can go back to the rest of your flight and remind them to stay away.  Or else."

Cybela shrank before his eyes, crimson wings sprouting from her back, mouth stretching into a snout, ears twisting into horns, silk turning to scales, until she hovered there in her true form:  a small red whelp.

Wrathion's eyes widened.  "You're no older than I am!"  That certainly explained why she wasn't better able to defend herself from capture.  If anything, he was impressed that it took three Blacktalon agents to subdue her.  The act of shapeshifting had freed her from the ropes, but she made no immediate move to attack or flee.

"Yes, I am.  By about a month."

He found himself momentarily speechless, the implications of the timing unfurling in his mind.

"I was from her last clutch.  The stress and chaos of what was going on in the Badlands meant that only a few of us hatched.  I'm the only survivor now."

"Your father...?"

"Fell defending the Vermillion Redoubt from the Twilight's Hammer," she said with a bitter scowl.

Wrathion forced back a swell of compassion that he could not afford.  "How fortunate that you still have the rest of your flight to take care of you," he said coldly.

She snorted.  "They aren't interested in what happens to _me_.  They're scattered, aimless..."

He raised an eyebrow.  "Scattered and aimless, perhaps, but alive.  Return to your kind and be grateful for the chance to rebuild."

"Grateful?" she sputtered, voice rising an octave.   "My entire family is dead!"

His careful control of his temper wavered, and he drew himself up to his mortal form's full height.  "When you are the only survivor of your entire _dragonflight_ , we'll talk.  If you don't leave me alone, I'll start working to make sure that happens.  In the meantime, be gone."

"Why you--"  She darted at him with her tiny, needle-sharp teeth bared, but both Left and Right blocked her path immediately.   Surrounded by Blacktalon agents, all she could do was to dart upward out of their reach and head for the door.

On her way out, she blasted a mouthful of flame at the bamboo lintel.  Tong cried out in alarm and grabbed a bucket to douse the flames before they spread.

To hide his shaking knees, Wrathion plopped back down at the table.  The carefully-sorted piles of mogu sigils suddenly held no interest for him, and he simply sat and stared into his tea cup until the next adventurer came along.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion often watched the sun set from Mason's Folly, the terrace overlooking the Jade Forest.  However, with a hostile red dragon around--even if she was only a whelp--he did not feel safe being out in the open.  He could have brought his bodyguards, of course, but that would defeat the purpose of having contemplative time alone.  Besides, his headache had only intensified as the evening wore on.

He barely touched the rice dish that Tong served for supper.   A dip in the steam bath behind the tavern might have soothed his nerves, but even that seemed like too much effort.  Instead he retired early to his room upstairs.  Once the door was shut and extra guards were posted outside, he took off his turban and set it on the futon.  He ran a hand through his matted black hair and then removed his gloves, too.

The book of Pandaren folk tales he had been reading the night before still sat on the table by the window, and he flopped down in a chair to pick up where he left off.  After reading the same paragraph three times without absorbing any of it, however, he put his head down on the table with a frustrated sigh.

He had done everything he could to pretend that the visit from Rheastrasza's daughter hadn't affected him.  Now, in the privacy of his room, he was forced to admit to himself that the encounter had shaken him to the core.

He could not remember his real mother's voice, but he did recall Rhea's, coming to him through the eggshell.   "Grow nice and strong, little one," she had cooed.  "Azeroth needs you.  So many bad things have happened to the dragonflights, but you're the start of something better.  Great things are ahead of you."  He had taken those words to heart and done his best to live up to expectations.  Azeroth _did_ need him, more than its mortal inhabitants realized.

Wrathion lifted his head off the table and glanced at his book once more.  Reading was one of his favorite pastimes, but tonight the words were unable to drown out his own thoughts, and his headache made it difficult to focus on the print.  He used a ribbon bookmark to save his place and rubbed his eyes.  If only his head would stop throbbing!  

He stood up and looked out the window at the mountain slope outside.  The moons cast a ghostly glow over the fog.  Somewhere in the direction of the stables, a yak grunted.  Otherwise it was perfectly silent.

Wrathion shifted into his natural form and perched on the windowsill, sniffing the cool night air.  As a black dragon, he had a natural affinity for the earth, and being here among some of Azeroth's highest mountain peaks made him feel especially connected to the planet.   Furthermore, the Pandaren mindset of optimism and contemplation agreed with him.  The tavern was the first place since Ravenholdt Manor that felt like home.

Yet he was alone, as he always had been and always would be.   He could either despair in his status as the last black dragon, or he could own the title and make it a badge of pride.  Most days the latter came naturally to him.  After all, it was on his orders that the last members of his flight had met their violent demise.  From time to time, however, the true magnitude of his isolation would creep up on him, and he indulged in the luxury of self-pity.

The chill in the air made him wrap his wings around himself for warmth.  He should be snuggled up beside his mother and siblings in a nice, toasty cave somewhere.  A mother would comfort him when he was upset, and tend to him when he was feeling poorly.

Like now.  His head pulsed with pain, and as he turned from the window the room appeared to keep moving even after he came to a halt.  He spread his wings for balance and hopped down to the table just below the window.  The dizziness continued, and he closed his eyes.

He had attributed his headache to stress, or perhaps the eye strain of looking at tiny mogu carvings.  Yet the room spinning around him made his stomach slosh uneasily, and he began to wonder if perhaps he had caught some kind of illness.

Bed.  He just needed sleep.  He regained his balance long enough to flap over to the futon and dive into the pile of pillows there.

The moonlight was painfully bright even with his eyes closed.   Wrathion looked around for a solution, too sick to get up and close the drapes.   His turban sat near the head of the bed, and he crawled under the tangle of fabric.  It was dark and warm, and if he used his imagination he could pretend it was a cave...the kind of cave where his mother would have watched over him.

He curled into a ball and was soon sleeping.

 

* * *

 

Left and Right exchanged concerned glances when the Black Prince emerged from his room the next morning.  His usual haughty posture had devolved into a slouch, as if he didn't have the energy to hold himself upright.  The glow in his red eyes had dimmed slightly, and he seemed to be having trouble keeping them open all the way.

True to their rigorous training, neither bodyguard spoke until the prince initiated contact, but he did not comment on his haggard appearance.   "Any sign of our red intruder overnight?" he asked.

Both women shook their heads.

"Stay on high alert.  I doubt we've seen the last of her."  Wrathion started down the hallway, and Left and Right followed as always.  As he neared the stairs, however, he began to stagger sideways, and only Left's quick reflexes kept him from crashing into the wall.

"Are you all right, Your Majesty?" the orc finally asked.

"Yes," he snapped, swatting her hands away as she tried to steady him further.  "I'm just...tired."

The bodyguards' normally stern expressions darkened further with worry, and they shadowed him even more closely than usual as he descended the stairs.

Tong saw him coming and bowed with a warm smile.   "Good morning, Black Prince.  I have a fine selection for breakfast today.  Mushan sausage fresh from the Valley, golden apples from the Vale, and porridge with--"

"Just tea, thank you," he interrupted, continuing on to his usual table.

A mixture of confusion and offense flickered across the Pandaren's face before his pleasant demeanor returned.  "As you wish."

Wrathion sat down heavily on the bench, closing his eyes.  The thought of eating anything made his already sour stomach even queasier.   It was all the fault of this stupid headache.  He had expected it to be gone after a good night's sleep, but he found himself just as unwell this morning.  He opened his eyes and called, "Tong?"

The innkeeper stuck his head out of the kitchen.   "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"I trust you know of some local remedy for a splitting headache?"

"Of course."  The Pandaren nodded with fresh understanding and ducked back into the kitchen.

While he brewed whatever concoction was supposed to help, Wrathion tried to continue with his usual routine.  One of his Blacktalon agents presented him with a few envelopes that had arrived overnight, and he took them without comment.  He squinted, forcing his bleary eyes to read the latest report from his agent in the Jade Forest.  It appeared the sha infestation there was contained for the moment, and druids from the Cenarion Circle had arrived to see if it was possible to restore any life to the blighted areas.

There was more in the report, but the letters seemed to waver on the page, as if he was viewing them underwater.  The effort of trying to focus made hot pain pound across his forehead, and he winced.  This would not do at all.

Tong arrived with a steaming cup of tea.  "Here.   These herbs should ease what ails you."

"Thank you," he said, taking a sip.  When he first arrived at the Tavern in the Mists, the innkeeper was alarmed at the way he drank scalding hot beverages without blowing to cool them, but by now he was used to the dragon's odd ways.  

The tea had a taste unlike any Wrathion had encountered before, but it was not unpleasant.  He tried again to make sense of the report in front of him, but the letters were no more cooperative than before.  He scowled.   Ridiculous.  He had been able to read since the day he hatched.  It had never been a problem before.

He folded up the letter and set it aside.  Perhaps when he'd been awake longer he would have better results.

He glanced at the sun angle on the wooden floorboards.  He had slept in later than usual.  So why was he still so tired?  Even lifting the tea cup to his mouth seemed to require an unpleasantly large amount of energy.

Wrathion was so busy taking stock of how awful he felt, and being irrationally angry at his body as a result, that he did not notice anyone entering the tavern.   The first indication that anything unusual was happening was the sudden movement of the Blacktalons flanking the door.  He looked up and blinked several times to bring the scene into focus.

The Blacktalon guards, a night elf and a human, had their blades drawn and crossed in front of an elf in the doorway, blocking her entry.   The intruder wore the same crimson-and-gold dress as the day before, and her bright-red hair was still done up in twin tails.  She was not visibly armed, and her expression was neutral.

Only then did Wrathion's hazy senses finally recognize the aura of a red dragon.  "I thought I told you to leave here and never return!"

"I'm sorry we got off to a bad start yesterday.  I don't want us to be enemies," Cybelastrasza said.   "My mother's goal with you was to restore the black dragonflight to the way it used to be in the beginning, and the red and black flights were close allies, long ago.  I think she would want us to be on good terms."

"It doesn't matter what she would want.  She's dead."

Cybela sputtered in outrage.  "How dare you--"

Wrathion rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying very hard to hide how much pain he was in.  "Normally I would see you dead for daring to confront me a second time.  Considering your age, I'll be lenient."  He gestured to the guards at the door.  "Break one of her legs and send her away.  If she shows her face within a league of me after today, kill her."

But Cybela wasn't about to give them the opportunity.   Faster than even the Blacktalons could react, she shifted back into a whelp, breathed a rush of flames at the guards blocking her path, and rocketed off into the foggy sky.

Wrathion got to his feet, hanging onto the table to steady himself as his dizziness intensified.  "I can't work with all these distractions.  I'm returning to my private chamber.  Left, bring the mail and my tea.  I won't be receiving any visitors today."  His tone was flippant but his gait unsteady as he hurried to the stairs and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion stayed in bed the rest of that day, hoping if he slept long enough he would feel better when he woke up again.  Every time he awoke, however, he found that his head was still throbbing with pain, the room was still spinning, and his stomach still churned.

Tong sent a tray of food to his room at supper time.  His instinct was to refuse, but Right gently convinced him to try some of the noodles with steamed vegetables.  He picked at it for a few minutes, only eating a couple mouthfuls before sending it away.  

Within a half hour Right rushed back into the room at the sound of him retching into the chamber pot.  "Oh, my prince," she said, shaking her head in pity.  "Is there anything I can do?"

He waved her back, not wanting an audience for this undignified moment.

Nonetheless, she sat down beside him and rubbed his back while he finished emptying his stomach, then tucked him back into bed.

"What's...wrong with me?" he gasped, shaking all over.

Right shrugged apologetically.  "I don't know, Your Majesty.  I'm just glad you didn't do it in my bed this time."  When he didn't respond, she added, "You know, when you got seasick in my bunk on board the ship--"

"I remember," he snapped.  "But that had an identifiable cause.  Lots of people get seasick."  He grimaced and closed his eyes for a moment.   "But this...  I don't know what's going on, and I _hate_ not knowing."  He managed to sound more annoyed than frightened, but she knew him well enough by now to sense the truth.

"Do you want me to find a healer?"

"No.  Word of my...weakness will not spread beyond this room, understood?"

She nodded.

"And, Right?  The room isn't really moving, is it?"

"No, sir.  Everything is quite stationary."

He closed his eyes tightly.  "Not to me."

She clicked her tongue in sympathy.  "Can I get you anything?"

_Stay with me,_ he wanted to say.  _I'm sick.   I'm scared.  I don't want to be alone._   But of course he had to be alone.  He was the Black Prince, the last of his kind.  No matter how much he wanted someone to sit at his bedside and comfort him, he could not have one of his bodyguards coddling him like a child.  Finally, he said, "Just give me a towel, in case... _that_...happens again."

She nodded and found one in the cupboard.  He took it from her and clutched it under his chin.  "Thank you," he murmured.

"Try to get some sleep, Your Majesty.  If it's just some stomach bug you might feel better tomorrow."  Right looked as if she wanted to lean down and pat him, or hug him, or make some other comforting gesture, but she bowed instead.  "If you need anything, one of us will be just outside."  She closed the door behind her with as little noise as possible, mindful of his headache.

Wrathion tried his best to relax.  He dozed off and on but kept waking up due to the tight pain in his head.  Night fell, and the darkness of the room was a relief to his sore eyes.  Every time he moved he felt a surge of nausea, so he tried to stay perfectly still.  Even then, it felt like the room was rotating.  Why, oh why, was he so sick?

Looking back on it, he hadn't had much energy for the last month or so, but he had blamed it on the stress of everything going on with the war in Pandaria.  His appetite had been low, which he blamed on the exotic dishes.  He had chalked up the headaches to eye strain or more stress.

Now, as he laid alone in the dark, feeling his head pound with every beat of his heart, he was suddenly afraid that something serious, even fatal, was wrong with him.  If only Fahrad were here.   He might know what the matter was.  Or at least he could sit with him, telling him stories to keep his mind off how atrocious he felt.

If he was dying, what would become of Azeroth?  The Burning Legion was coming.  All his carefully-laid plans for the defense of the planet would fall apart if he wasn't there to coordinate them.

He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut.  That wouldn't happen.  He _had_ to get better.  This was probably some draconic flu that all whelps went through.  He just didn't have anyone around to tell him so.

He slowly raised one hand to rub his forehead, but even the touch of his own fingers hurt.

Wrathion had never been ill before.  Sure, he had overindulged in rich foods and regretted it later, and there was that time when the unexpected sight of a severed dragon paw made him sick.  And, as Right had so _helpfully_ reminded him, he had been seasick on the journey to Pandaria.  But each of those incidents had an easily-identifiable cause, and were fairly brief in duration.

This...  This was something different.  He didn't know what caused it, and he didn't know when or _if_ it would end.  It was that fear, even more than the physical discomfort, that kept him awake that night.


	2. Chapter 2

When the Black Prince failed to show up for their usual afternoon board game, Anduin Wrynn did not attach much significance to it.  Wrathion was a busy dragon, and it wasn't unusual for him to get carried away with his latest project or discovery.  His continued absence the following day was a bit harder to explain, and when the third afternoon passed without a sign of his draconic counterpart, the prince of Stormwind grew genuinely concerned.

Anduin's cane tapped loudly on the floorboards as he came down the hallway toward Wrathion's room.  Left and Right were stationed on either side of the closed door, confirming his suspicion that Wrathion was inside.  Before he could say anything, Left said, "His Majesty isn't accepting visitors."

"I was just getting worried since I haven't seen him for days.  Is everything all right?" Anduin asked.

"His Majesty left strict orders not to be disturbed," Right said firmly.

"Is he sick?"

"No," Left and Right said simultaneously.

Anduin's blond eyebrows crunched together in a frown.  "I _am_ training as a priest, you know.  If he's sick or injured, I might be able to help."

"His Majesty was very clear," Left insisted.   "No visitors."

Considering his rank, Anduin was not used to being denied entrance wherever he wished to go.  Still, it was more concern for his friend than a bruised ego that aggravated him.  "Would you please pass along a message, then?   Tell the Black Prince that I dropped by and offered my assistance, if he finds himself in need of a healer."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Right said with a respectful nod.  As a human, she had always been more formal with him than her orcish companion.

A familiar voice came from within the room.  "Wait!"  Footsteps approached and the door opened.

Anduin was taken aback by Wrathion's appearance.  Normally he spared no attention to detail with his human guise, making sure he looked as regal and impressive as possible.  Now he wore a loose shirt of black mageweave that was massively wrinkled and not tucked into his baggy and equally-wrinkled tan pants.  His turban was nowhere to be seen, and his hair was tangled and uncombed.  

More than his attire, however, Anduin noticed how unhealthy he looked.  Wrathion was paler than Anduin remembered him.  The red glow in his eyes was dimmer than usual, and he was panting and trembling from the mere effort of getting up to open the door.

"You look awful," Anduin blurted.

"Thank you ever so much, Prince Anduin," Wrathion said flatly.  "Did I hear correctly, that you came to offer your assistance?   Or were you just here to insult me?"

"Yeah, no, I just...  I was worried because I hadn't seen you since I got back from Lion's Landing, and I thought maybe you were sick.  Which it seems you are."

Wrathion blinked slowly, not accustomed to having anyone outside the Blacktalon ranks show concern for his well-being.  "It's nothing.  Fatigue, most likely.  Still, since you're here..."  He stepped aside to let Anduin into the room.  Left shut the door behind him.

"So what's the matter?" Anduin asked.

A tangle of sheets on the futon against the far wall hinted at how long its occupant had been bedridden.  Wrathion's arm shook visibly despite his best efforts to appear nonchalant as he indicated that Anduin should take a seat at the small table by the window.  Even more color had drained from his face now, and he reeled slightly on his way to the table.  "It's probably nothing," he said despite all visual evidence to the contrary.

"It doesn't look like 'nothing,'" Anduin said carefully.  He knew from past conversations that Wrathion did not take kindly to any implication of weakness on his part.

The dragon nodded, holding his forehead.  "Dizziness.   Terrible headaches.  And I'm just...so...damn...tired."  He sounded frustrated.

"How's your appetite?"

Wrathion grimaced.  "Don't ask."

"Have you tried any medicine?"

He snorted.  "Every remedy in Tong's cabinet that seemed even remotely relevant.  Some of the teas dull the headache a little but that's all I can say for them.  I also had my agents research other local remedies, but none of their suggestions made any difference, either."  Wrathion closed his eyes and slouched.   "It's all been quite disheartening."

"Maybe Pandaren medicine doesn't work on dragons," Anduin said.

"I thought of that.  My people talked to the Order of the Cloud Serpent, but none of their tips seemed to help.   Then again, there are significant differences between cloud serpents and my own species."

Anduin stood up.  "I can try to use the Light to heal you, if you would like me to."

It was clear that Wrathion's first instinct was to refuse, but misery overshadowed his pride and he eventually nodded.  "Frankly, Anduin, at this point I'd do just about anything to get back on my feet again.  This convalescence is getting quite tiresome."

"I don't suppose you've ever been sick before, have you?"

"In my _long_ two years of life, you mean?" he said with a faint smirk.  "No.  I have not."

Anduin nodded in sympathy.  "Well, I'll help if I can.  It would probably be best if you took your true form, though, so the Light can work directly on you."

Wrathion stood up very slowly, hanging onto the table for support.  "Damn this spinning in my head," he muttered.  "Let me lie down first.  Shapeshifting makes me even more dizzy.  I'm loathe to admit it but I actually lost consciousness the last time I tried."

Setting his cane aside for the moment, Anduin looped an arm around the other prince's shoulders and guided him to the futon.  Wrathion slumped onto the mattress like a ragdoll.  "That's the longest I've been out of bed in three days," he said with disgust, "yet I feel like I could sleep for hours again.  Pathetic."  After a moment to catch his breath, he began to shrink, scales appearing over his clammy skin, nose stretching into a reptilian snout, tail and wings sprouting, until he was back in his natural body.  As a whelp, he would have easily fit into one of Tong's cooking pots.

Anduin was forcefully reminded of just how young the other prince was.  For all his bluster and inflated vocabulary, he was still a very small dragon.

At first Wrathion said nothing and Anduin feared he had passed out, but after a few deep breaths a tiny puff of smoke drifted from his mouth.   "Well, don't just stand there.  Do...whatever you were going to do."

Anduin leaned down to inspect the whelp more closely.  His scales had lost much of their shine, and there were blotches on his underbelly that appeared to be a rash of some sort.  Anduin wasn't an expert on draconic anatomy, but he thought he looked too thin for his size.

The human prince placed a hand over the dragon's chest, as he would to begin any healing.  Wrathion bucked forward, hissing in pain, and snapped at his hand with razor-sharp teeth.  Anduin jerked his hand back in time to avoid being bitten.  "Hey!  I'm trying to help you, but I'd like to keep all my fingers!"

"That...hurt," panted the whelp, as close to an apology as he was likely to get.

"Where?  Your stomach?"

Wrathion had his eyes clenched shut as he nodded, obviously in pain.

Anduin pondered this.  "Have you eaten anything strange recently?"

"I've been too sick to even attempt solid food for two days.  Before that, just whatever Tong served.  This pain is...new, today."  He moaned and doubled over, holding his abdomen.  "Oh, just what I needed.  More pain.  As if I wasn't suffering enough already."

"Hmm..."  Anduin wished he had access to the library in Stormwind Keep.  Dragon health wasn't a topic he had had much reason to study in the past.

He carefully inspected one of the whelp's back paws.  Two of his claws had been broken short, and a third snapped at just a light touch from Anduin's finger.  Such brittleness was clearly not normal, either.

Wrathion was squirming in such distress that he didn't even notice the broken claw.

Anduin gathered his concentration and held out his hands, keeping them an inch or so above the patient's scales this time.  He closed his eyes and turned his thoughts inward to where the Holy Light burned deep within himself.  A feeling of peace washed over him, and he smiled involuntarily.  Calmly, he implored the Light to heal his friend.  Warmth coalesced in his hands and radiated downward onto the ailing dragon.

Wrathion gave a quiet whimper that was so unlike his usual bravado that Anduin's desire to ease his suffering intensified.

_Please,_ he prayed.  _Whatever else he is or may become, he is a sick whelp.  Please, Holy Light.  Cure what afflicts him._

The dragon's breathing grew slower and less labored.

Anduin channeled the healing spell for several minutes before he began to feel lightheaded himself.  At last he opened his eyes and sat back to see what effect his treatment had had.

Wrathion was more relaxed now.  His forelimbs lay limply at his sides, and his head was lolled back on the mattress.  The rash had disappeared from his belly, and his broken claws had grown in to match the rest.  However, his scales were still dull, and the fact that he wasn't popping right up to make some snide comment was discouraging.

"How do you feel?" Anduin asked.

"Less pain in my head and stomach."  He attempted to sit up, but a wave of vertigo sent him flopping flat on his back again.   "The dizziness, however...  Whoa."

Anduin's heart sank.  As he had feared, whatever was wrong with the young dragon was beyond his ability to heal.  "I'm sorry, Wrathion.   I really thought I could help."

The whelp looked up at him with dim red eyes and actually managed a half-smile.  "You tried.  That's more than many would do.   Thank you."

"You really _are_ sick, if you're saying nice things to me."

Wrathion snorted a wisp of smoke.  "I have no idea what you're talking about.  Now if you'd be so kind as to vacate...I just want to sleep."

"Are you going to shift back into a human?"

He considered for a moment but shook his head.  "I don't believe I'm up to it, at the moment."

Unbidden, Anduin gathered up an armload of bedsheets and arranged them into a circular kind of "nest" around the pillow.

"What are you--?" Wrathion began to ask, then sputtered indignantly as Anduin scooped him up in his arms like a puppy and plopped him onto the pillow.

"Here.  This should keep you warm and comfy."   Anduin tucked the blankets around him.

Wrathion was clearly torn between scolding him for treating him this way, and thanking him for his concern.  In the end, he merely rolled over to face away from the human.

Anduin grabbed his cane and walked to the door.  "If there's anything else I can do, have Right come get me."

Wrathion made a vague noise of acknowledgment, and was sleeping the instant the door closed behind his visitor.

 

* * *

 

Books on killing dragons were unfortunately much easier to come by than books about healing them, Anduin had found.  Despite calling in favors with several different allies, he had been unable to find any clues as to what ailment had stricken the Black Prince.  He even tried using the magic communication orb that Jaina had given him for emergencies, but there was no reply.  He was briefly alarmed, then remembered that the Archmage was busy leading the assault on the Isle of Thunder.   So much for the hope that she might know something, or could consult Kalecgos.

It was raining and chilly outside, so Anduin kept his evening walk within the confines of the tavern, pacing the length of the hallway and even taking the stairs a few extra times.  Navigating staircases was still one of the hardest things he had to do on his injured leg, but it was good exercise.

When deep aches reverberated from his ankle to his hip, it was time to stop.  Leaning heavily on his cane, Anduin walked the length of the hallway one more time on his way back to the Black Prince's room.

Wrathion was where he had left him an hour ago, curled up on his pillow.  His scales were even duller now, and his breaths were shallow and labored.

Anduin leaned his cane on the bedside table and sat down on the futon.  "Wrathion, wake up," he said gently.  "It's time to eat something."

One wing twitched under the blanket but otherwise he gave no sign of being aware of the human's presence.

Anduin reached out to pat him, noting that his hand covered over half of the whelp's back.  "Wrathion, wake up," he said a bit more loudly.

"Go 'way," he mumbled, pressing his face further into the pillow.

"You should eat something.  Tong made you soup."

"Didn't I just eat?" he said groggily.

"Half a piece of toast, almost nine hours ago."

Wrathion still did not open his eyes.  "I'm not hungry."

"You need to keep your strength up."

"I'm fine."  Wrathion pulled the blanket over his head, hiding himself from view.

Anduin gave a frustrated sigh.  "You haven't gotten out of bed in almost a week."

"Mind your own business," came the muffled reply.

Anduin rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket off his friend's head.  "Don't be such a baby.  Here, the soup is still hot.  At least try it."  He picked up a small clay bowl from the table and held it in front of the dragon.

Wrathion finally opened his eyes, which barely glowed at all in the dim lamplight.  "I don't like soup."

"And I don't like arguing with bratty whelps.   Don't make me spoon-feed you."

The threat of such humiliation motivated him to dip his snout into the cup.  After just one slurp, he slumped back against the pillow.   "There.  I tried it.  Now leave me alone."

"You barely tasted it."

"My stomach hurts.  My head hurts.  I'm so dizzy I see at least three of you.  All I want to do is sleep.  Now go away before I have Left and Right break your thumbs."

Anduin set the soup on the bedside table and stood up with the aid of his cane.   "Fine.  I have plenty of other things I could be doing.  I don't have to sit around and be insulted by an ungrateful little lizard."

"Who are you calling a lizard?" he snarled, sitting up.  "Why, I should--"  He took two hopping steps toward the human, then wobbled to a stop and clutched his head.  "I should--" he tried again, but had lost his train of thought completely in the rush of dizziness.  He flopped onto his back with a groan.

Anduin was halfway to the door, watching with a mixture of concern and annoyance.  "You should start being nicer to the only person who's actually trying to help you."

"T-Tong made soup," Wrathion muttered breathlessly, holding onto his head as if his skull was going to split apart at any second.

"Which you won't eat."

"I'm too sick!"  He made a feeble attempt to crawl back toward his pillow but tipped over on his side from lack of balance.

Anduin's scowl faded and compassion won out once again.   He came back over and scooped the trembling whelp up in his arms.  "Here, you stubborn dragon," he said, gently placing him back in his nest of blankets.   "Now stay put.  I can't have you staggering around like a drunken sailor.  You'll hurt yourself."

"That is _not_ how you talk to a fellow prince!" Wrathion griped.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," Anduin said with a formal bow.  "Stormwind sends its kindest regards and wishes for your full and speedy recovery."

Wrathion squinted at him, trying to decide just how badly he was being mocked.  Finally, he settled back into his pillow and closed his eyes.   "That will do."

Anduin started for the door again, but a wavering voice stopped him as he reached for the handle.

"Oh, and Anduin?  Fetch me a hot water bottle, would you?  I can't seem to get warm, and it would feel nice on my achy stomach."

The human prince looked over his shoulder at the gaunt little dragon and shook his head in surrender.  "I'll see what I can do."

 

* * *

 

Cold drizzle did nothing to disperse the mists that clung to the mountainside.  Cybelastrasza huddled close to the trunk of the tree she had chosen as her lookout post.  The thin leaves overhead did little to block the moisture.  The red whelp shivered and covered her face with one of her wings to muffle the sound of her sneeze.

She stayed perfectly still afterward, half-expecting one of the Blacktalon patrols to hear and attack.  There was no sign of movement from the sentries posted around the tavern across the road, nor any activity from the auction house behind her.

Cybela allowed herself to relax again.  Good, no one had noticed her.

Still, doubts plagued her mind.  This was a lost cause.   The Black Prince wanted nothing to do with her, and if she was caught spying on him again she did not doubt he would follow through on his threats.  Apparently being the daughter of the dragon who gave him his purified life did not count for as much as she had hoped.

She wasn't sure what she had expected, exactly.  Part of her hoped to find a dignified, quick-witted guardian like the Earth Warder had been in his prime.  Part of her feared she would find yet another mad, dangerous black dragon who had been corrupted, after all.  Wrathion seemed to have elements of both, but was neither, from what she could tell.

_I should never have left the Ruby Dragonshrine_ , she thought glumly, hunkering down under her wings as the rain increased.  _The orphan matron was right.  It's stupid to think this black whelp would want anything to do with me, just because he was so important to my mother._ She bowed her head and felt moisture gather in her eyes that had nothing to do with the weather.  _But he's the only connection I have to her._

Some at the dragonshrine had assumed she wanted to find Wrathion for revenge, but such thoughts never even crossed Cybelastrasza's mind.  _True, it's because of him that I'm an orphan.  But he didn't_ do _anything.  He hadn't even hatched yet.  And he's all alone, too.  Even more alone than I am.   We should be friends.  Mama would want us to get along.  She would want me to help protect him, now that she can't._

She frowned through the fog at the sinister, black-clad figures guarding the tavern.  _Not that he needs another protector._

Perhaps he wasn't even here anymore.  She hadn't seen any sign of the Black Prince for many days, and she had overheard adventurers grumbling as they left the tavern without an audience with him.

Cybela sighed and continued to shiver.  There was no point lingering here.  She would either be caught and killed by the Blacktalons, or become ill from exposure.  As soon as the skies cleared a bit, she resolved to leave the Veiled Stair and seek her path elsewhere.

What path that might be was a mystery to her, however.  _I could always slink back to the Ruby Dragonshrine with my tail between my legs and continue training as a healer,_ she thought with a bitter scowl.  _At least there I can be with other dragons.  Wrathion was right about that, at least.  I may not have a family, but the red dragonflight lives on._

Cybela shifted her weight uncomfortably, finding it harder to grip the wet tree branch as the precipitation began to freeze.  Yes, she belonged to the red dragonflight:  a flight who considered her mother an eccentric who had overstepped ethical boundaries in her desperation to salvage the black dragonflight.   Rheastrasza should have been remembered as a hero, but Cybela caught snatches of gossip that branded her nearly as demented as the black dragons she tried to save.  The great experiment she had given her life to protect had been a failure, after all.  The "uncorrupted" black whelp had immediately set about killing his last relatives.

"But that's what we were doing, too," Cybela had chimed in once.  "Our flight was working to wipe out the last black dragons.  Look at what happened in the Highlands!  We killed a broodmother and all her babies!  How is that any different from what Wrathion did?"

The others had looked at her with pity, as if judging her as odd as her mother.  They offered condescending smiles but did not explain what the difference was.  The corrupted black dragonflight had to be eradicated.  Just because Wrathion didn't want to work with the reds didn't mean he was wrong.

Something the Black Prince had said on their first meeting still haunted her.  Red dragons had tried to kill him when he refused to return to the Vermillion Redoubt with them.  Cybela had never heard a word about this, but something about the fervor in Wrathion's voice convinced her that he was telling the truth.  But why?  Did they think he was corrupted, after all?

Maybe he was.  He had ordered his minions to break her leg and even kill her.  Those weren't benevolent actions, to say the least.

Yet if his past experiences with her dragonflight involved kidnapping and attempted murder, she couldn't blame him for treating her like an enemy.   If only she could have proven to him that she meant no harm, that not all red dragons wanted to control or kill him...

Cybela sighed and hung her head.  It was too late, now.   He had passed judgment and there was no way to get close enough to change his mind.

At last the freezing rain stopped, and the red whelp flapped her wings to rid them of moisture.  With one last, mournful look at the Tavern in the Mists, she flew away into the gray sky.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion's mind was wrapped in fog thicker than any of Pandaria's mists.  He had lost all sense of time.  How long had he been sprawled among his pillows?  A day?  A week?  

Was it day or night?  Opening his eyes would have answered that question, at least, but he found himself unable to muster even that much energy.

The pulsing headache was a constant companion now, sometimes joined by shooting pains in his limbs.  His legs twitched of their own accord.   How did his body have the energy to do that, yet he could not even lift his eyelids?  Absurd.

His stomach clenched in a strange combination of nausea and hunger.  When was the last time he had eaten?  The thought of the food that Tong served nearly made him gag--odd, since he had always enjoyed the pandaren's cooking before--yet he could not shake a strange craving for...something.   He couldn't focus his thoughts long enough to figure out what.

Voices reached him occasionally, voices that he knew must be coming from nearby, yet somehow seemed far away.  

Right sounded worried, and sorry for him.  He wanted to scold her for daring to pity him, but his tongue refused to shape the words.

Left's gruff orcish voice told him to be strong, to fight against his illness.  _How do you suggest I do that, when I can't even lift my head off the pillow?_ he wanted to ask.

Anduin spoke most often, making small talk about the weather, whatever he happened to be reading, the war, and other events.  It was all muddled together in a swirl of words that he was unable to follow.  At times the human prince would ask him how he was feeling, if he was awake, if he wanted anything to eat, if he was warm enough...  Wrathion was both confused and touched by his friend's concern, and once or twice he managed to murmur some vague response.  At least, he thought he had.  Or perhaps he had lapsed into Draconic without realizing it.

Other voices came to him, just as real as the others, yet some sliver of his dim mind protested that they were impossible.

He heard Rheastrasza apologizing for all that had happened to him, and reminding him of the great responsibility and destiny in store for him.

_Is this my destiny?_ he wondered.  _Withering and dying like an abandoned runt, leaving an unprepared world to face the Legion?   No, I worked so hard..._

Another female voice that he somehow knew was Nyxondra's faded in and out of his hearing, saying "My poor, dear baby."  He had rejected Right's pity, but coming from his mother it felt entirely different.  In his more lucid moments, he knew it was foolish to wish that he had known her, because he would have had to see her killed like the rest of the black dragonflight.  Yet the thought of her now made a deep yearning weigh on his chest, and the prospect of dying seemed slightly less horrible.  He could meet her at last...

No.  No, his mission was too important.  He had to live.  He had to recover.  He had to be strong.  He had promised Fahrad... 

As if summoned by the thought, the rogue's deep, scratchy voice whispered words of comfort, assuring him that everything would be all right.

_I'm frightened,_ he thought in response, remembering the times he would communicate with Fahrad while still in his egg.  He had been just as helpless then, unable to move or speak, and the rogue had rescued him.  _Help me,_ he cried in his mind.

_I'm sorry, my boy,_ was the faint reply.

Sorry for what?  Sorry they couldn't be together anymore?   Sorry that Wrathion was dying?  He wanted to formulate the questions, but the words skittered away like quicksilver when he tried to arrange them into a coherent sentence.

_I'm sorry,_ Fahrad said again.  _Stay strong.   You're going to be all right._

Wrathion summoned a scrap of energy from some unknown reserve to squirm in distress.  _Fahrad, please,_ he tried to say, but only a squeaky moan emerged.

"Wrathion?  Are you okay?"  It was Anduin's voice this time, louder and clearer than Fahrad's.  A hand, not as warm as a dragon's but still pleasant, came to rest across his chest.  "Can I get you anything?"

With a supreme effort, the whelp forced his eyes partway open, affording a brief glimpse of the human's blond head looming over him with a worried expression.  Although he was lying perfectly still, the room seemed to be turning as if mounted on a gigantic wheel, and he clenched his eyes shut again.

Yes, right, Anduin was here.  Fahrad was not.  He knew that.  He had been dreaming.  Of course.

"Here, you really should try to drink something," Anduin said.

He felt the rim of a cup press against his mouth.  He let his jaw fall open, and cool water trickled inside.  His body knew what to do even if his mind was hazy, and he swallowed twice before closing his mouth and turning his head to the side.

Anduin sighed, evidently thinking he should have taken in more, but did not push it.  "Light have mercy on you," he said softly.

_You don't need to stay with me,_ Wrathion wanted to say.  _You don't have to watch this happen to yet another person you care about._

But of course he couldn't get his mouth to form the words, and Anduin returned to his vigil in the chair by the window.

_Fahrad...  Mother...  Please..._ he thought.   He wasn't sure what he was pleading for, but he focused on the thought until sleep dragged him down again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

As the days passed and Wrathion grew weaker, Anduin became more frustrated at his inability to help.  Velen had taught him that part of being a conduit for the Holy Light was accepting that sometimes destiny had other plans for those you were trying to heal.  Not every life could be saved, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Stormwind's prince was not ready to admit defeat yet, however. 

The sun had recently disappeared behind the mountains into the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, and it was getting too dark to read.  Anduin arose from the table to light a lantern.  Trying to be as quiet with his cane as possible, he crossed the room to check on his patient.  Wrathion had protested at first when the human started spending more time in his sickroom than anywhere else, but they both knew he was secretly grateful for the company.  In the last day, however, his condition had worsened to the point where he only woke up when Anduin forced him to drink a little water.

The whelp was lying on his side, a triple layer of blankets up to his chin.  His back limbs were seldom still, twitching restlessly even in his deepest sleep.  Anduin lightly put a hand on his back and felt the heat radiating through the blankets.  As far as he could tell, however, this was normal for a black dragon and not a sign of fever.

Wrathion groaned softly but did not stir.  Anduin frowned.   How long could he last like this?  He obviously had a strong will to live, but there was a limit to how much a dragon of his tender age could handle.  Anduin swallowed back a lump of emotion in his throat and limped back to his chair.

The irony was not lost on him.  He, the heir to the throne of Stormwind, was fretting over the life of a black dragon.  For years his father's kingdom had been beseiged and infiltrated by the black dragonflight.  How many whelplings even smaller than Wrathion had been slaughtered in the past few decades in Redridge and the Burning Steppes?  

It had taken Anduin some time to get used to the idea of a black dragon who _didn't_ want him dead or kidnapped, and the first few times he saw Wrathion's true form he had to fight off flashbacks of being held captive in Onyxia's lair.  Yet the whelps there were bloodthirsty, crazed and not even a fraction as intelligent as Wrathion.  He deserved a chance to prove himself better than his corrupted ancestors.  It hardly seemed fair for his life to end so soon after it began.

Anduin tore his gaze away from the sleeping dragon and tried to concentrate on his book again.  It was a history of the Shado Pan, a tome that he had been enjoying greatly several days ago, before...  Involuntarily, his eyes wandered from the text and back to the bed.  Wrathion still lay in the same position, feet ever squirming under the blankets.

There had to be someone, somewhere who knew what was wrong with him.  Anduin slammed his book shut and grabbed his cane.  He couldn't sit and wait any longer.  If there was going to be a reply to any of the messages he had sent out, it would have arrived by now.  Time for a more proactive approach.

 

 

An armored soldier in a Stormwind tabard was guarding the stable where Anduin's white gryphon was kept.  She snapped to attention and saluted as the prince approached.

"I'm just going over to the Shrine for a bit," Anduin said casually.  "I won't be long."

The guard opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly relaxed and gave a dreamy sigh.  "Of course, Your Majesty."

Anduin frowned.  Using shadow magic always left a bitter taste in his mouth, and mind control was the worst.  However, gathering an escort would take time that Wrathion might not have to waste.

The guard seemed to completely ignore him as he saddled his gryphon, fed her a treat, and mounted up.  The feathery beast was familiar with him and eager to stretch her wings, so it took only the briefest of commands before she launched herself into the sky.  They cleared the mists in an instant, and soon the tavern looked like a matchbox on the mountainside.

Anduin steered his mount westward, over the ridge that separated the Vale of Eternal Blossoms from the Veiled Stair.  A wine-colored stain on the horizon was the only vestige of daylight remaining.  His ears popped from the sudden ascent, and again as the gryphon circled down to the Shrine of Seven Stars.   

The shrine was tucked into the side of the mountain, every bit as tall as Stormwind Keep and many times as ornate.  Multi-colored lanterns bobbed all over, casting a welcoming glow over the crowds gathered on the terraces.  At first glance one might assume there was a festival underway, but this was how the shrine usually looked.  As the largest non-military hub for the Alliance's activities in Pandaria, the Shrine of Seven Stars was as busy as any large city, bustling with adventurers and merchants.

Anduin was just another face in the crowd as he landed and tied his gryphon to a post by the flight master.  He had purposely worn his plainest clothing, an unmarked tunic of ivory silk and simple blue pants without any royal insignia.  He would still probably be recognized by many of the champions wandering about, but the less conspicuous he could make himself, the better.

The prince surveyed the crowd, wondering what a dragon expert might look like.

"Your Majesty!  We were not expecting you!"

Anduin winced.  So much for being inconspicuous.  He turned to see Alynna Whisperblade approaching.  The Night Elf sentinel was among the forces guarding the shrine, and had seen him in Krasarang months ago.  Of course she would recognize him.

He straightened his posture and decided to make the best of it.   "Greetings, Sentinel.  Please don't make a fuss.  I'm not here in any official capacity."

Alynna bowed.  "If I can be of any assistance, you need only ask, Your Majesty."

It was a long shot, but Anduin was desperate.  "I don't suppose you know of any dragon experts staying at the shrine right now?"

"There's a representative of the Order of the Cloud Serpent downstairs."

He shook his head.  "I mean _dragon_ dragons, like we're used to in the rest of Azeroth."

The sentinel smiled apologetically.  "I have not heard of such a person, no.  I can ask some of the others, if you'd like."

Anduin exhaled slowly and pressed his lips together in frustration.  "If you would, I'd appreciate it.  There's a very sick dragon whelp I've been trying to cure, but nothing seems to be helping."

Alynna made a sympathetic noise.  "Of course, Prince Anduin."  She headed back to where a group of night elves stood at the edge of the terrace.

While he waited for her to return, Anduin watched the throng of people going about their business.  Every race of the Alliance was represented, united in their mission to protect what mattered most.  It did the young prince's heart good to see such a gathering.  Draenei talked to worgen, gnomes laughed with pandaren, humans bartered with night elves, and high elves talked to dwarves.  

At least, he assumed that was a high elf, since a blood elf would be killed on sight here.  The female in question had her back to Anduin, so he couldn't see her eyes.  Her bright red hair was bound up in twin boartails that bobbed as she spoke.  Such a hair color was exceedingly rare among high elves, though it matched the hue of her dress.  A heavy-looking satchel was slung over her shoulder.

"Well, thank you anyway," she said, turning from the dwarf.

Anduin caught a glimpse of her eyes, which were neither blue nor green, but a striking gold color.  _What_...?

The elf saw him staring at her, but did not seem offended by the attention.  On the contrary, she smiled pleasantly and approached him.  He got the impression that she was a very young adult, but he could never really tell with elves.  "Excuse me," she said in unaccented Common, "I was wondering if you knew of anyone looking to employ a novice healer."

"Um, not at the moment, I'm afraid," Anduin said.

The strange elf broke eye contact and let her shoulders slump in disappointment.  "Oh.  Well, thank you for your time."  She drew herself up again into a confident posture and moved on to a nearby draenei.

"Your Majesty," came Alynna's voice from behind.   He turned around to give his attention to the night elf, but he could tell from her expression that she had learned nothing useful.  "I'm afraid no one in the Darnassus forces had any leads.  Would you like me to ask around the shrine some more?"

Anduin tried not to look too discouraged.  "We can't exactly walk up to everybody here and ask, 'Excuse me, by any chance are you an expert on dragon health?'"

Alynna shrugged.

A light hand came to rest on the prince's arm, and he jumped slightly.  "I'm sorry, but did you say you were looking for an expert on dragon health?"

Anduin turned to see the red-haired elf again.  "Um, yes, actually.  Do you know of one?"

She smiled modestly.  "I am one.  Sort of.   I mean, I wouldn't call myself an _expert_ , but I studied as a healer at the Ruby Dragonshrine for over a year."

Anduin's shock gave way to relief, and he issued a silent prayer of thanks.  "That's just what I need!  I've been trying to heal a sick whelp but he keeps getting worse, and I'm afraid he doesn't have much time left."

"A sick whelp?" she echoed, voice rising in pitch as she clasped her hands on her chest.  "Oh dear, the poor thing!   Yes, of course, I'll help you.  Where is he?"

"It's just a short flight away on the other side of the mountain," Anduin said.

"Then let's go."

Anduin nodded in thanks to Alynna for her assistance, then returned to his gryphon.  "Do you have a mount?" he asked the strange elf.

"Well, no, but--"

"You can ride with me, then.  It's not far."

"I don't really need--" she began, then shook her head.   "Let's just go."

Anduin was glad she realized the need for haste.  He adjusted the saddle to balance their combined weight and climbed aboard, fastening his cane in place with a leather strap.  The elf settled in behind him, gathered her satchel into her lap, and rested one palm against his back for stability.  Her skin felt very warm through his tunic.  Did high elves have a higher body temperature than humans?   He couldn't remember, and at the moment it was the least of his concerns.

"My name's Cybela, by the way," she said.

In his worry over Wrathion, he had completely neglected his usual manners.  "I'm Anduin," he said, expecting her to react.  She did not seem to recognize him as the Crown Prince of Stormwind, however.  Surprising, but just as well.  One less distraction.

The gryphon shot into the air and headed back toward the Veiled Stair.  As they flew, Anduin described Wrathion's symptoms.  Behind him, the elf made no comments beyond, "Hmm, I see" and "Poor dear."

Cool mists closed around them as the gryphon banked and descended toward the tavern.  

The elf behind him gasped.  "Here?  The whelp is _here_?"

"Yes.  Have you been to the Tavern in the Mists before?"

"Well, yes, but...  I'm not welcome back."

Anduin glanced over his shoulder at her.  "Epic bar fight?" he teased.

"Not exactly, but...  This may be a problem."

"I'm sure under the circumstances Tong will understand."

The prince did not look forward to explaining to his guards where he had been or why he returned with a strange elf.  Fortunately, he had been gone such a short time that his mind soothing spell had not completely worn off from the sentry at the stable.  It was a simple matter to distract her and lead Cybela away.

The elf put up the hood of her rust-colored cloak, hiding her hair and face as best she could, and stayed close to Anduin.

The Blacktalon guards by the tavern door regarded the newcomer with suspicion but apparently trusted the human prince enough not to question her identity.  The tavern was relatively quiet now that supper had passed.  The only patron to give them any attention at all was a worgen adventurer at a table by the door, who glanced at them, gave a casual salute to the prince, and returned to the map he was studying.

Anduin silently cursed his bad leg as he tried to hurry up the stairs.  Cybela patiently followed.

Left and Right were still stationed on either side of the Black Prince's door.  Anduin thought they looked exhausted, and realized they had been keeping their vigil for days without any real breaks.  In their own quiet way, they were just as worried about their prince as Anduin was.  The orc and human sprang to attention as the hooded stranger approached and looked to Anduin for an explanation.

"It's all right," he said, holding up a hand.   "She's a healer experienced with dragons.  I'm hoping she can help."

The bodyguards exchanged wary glances, then stepped aside to allow them entry.

Anduin nodded gratefully and led the way into the dimly-lit room.  "He hasn't really woken up for close to two days.  I've tried to keep him hydrated, but--"

Cybela gave a startled yelp and dropped her satchel with a thump.   "It's _him_!"

"Oh.  You're acquainted with the Black Prince?"

She pushed back her hood and stared at the small dragon on the pillow for a long moment, her expression distant and unreadable.  "Not...exactly.  But I want to be."

Anduin eyed her with suspicion, suddenly wondering if he had made the right decision to bring her here.  "Will you help him?"

To his surprise, Cybela sounded on the verge of tears.  "Yes, of course," she said, covering her mouth to contain her emotion.   "He _must_ recover!"  She took a deep breath to collect herself and slowly sat down on the edge of the futon as if hesitant to disturb the whelp's rest.  "Bring me my satchel, please."

Anduin picked up the leather bag from where she had dropped it and set it on the floor by her feet.

"Let's see..."  She leaned over her patient with a look of grim concentration.  "Oh my, you are in bad shape, aren't you?"

Wrathion awoke with a twitch, struggling to open eyes that barely glowed at all anymore.   "Huh?  Wha'?"

"It's all right," she soothed, pulling back the blankets to get a better look at him from head to toe.  "I'll have you feeling better again soon, I promise."

"What...?  Who...?  No!" he rasped, making a feeble attempt to wiggle away from her hands.

"It's okay, Wrathion, she's here to help you," Anduin said.  "She knows about healing dragons."

"But she's--  Ow!"   He cut himself off with a cry as Cybela gently pressed on his stomach.  "Ow, stop!" he whimpered.

She shook her head and frowned.  "This is pretty advanced.  Look at how brittle your claws are!"

"No, stop, go away, don't," he gasped.

Heedless of his protests, she forced his mouth open to look at his tongue.  "Mmm hmm," she said, apparently having found what she expected.  "Sore tongue.  And so skinny...  My goodness."

"Hands off!" he protested weakly.

The human prince watched her work, trying to learn by observing.   "So what's wrong with him?"

"Anduin, what were you thinking, bringing one of _them_ here?"  Wrathion flapped his wings in an attempt to escape from the elf's grasp, but the exertion was too much in his weakened state.  Cybela made a worried noise and held him closer as he slumped, unconscious, in her arms.

Anduin lowered an eyebrow.  What did he mean, "one of _them_ "?  Did Wrathion have something against high elves?  It was possible he was simply delirious.  That outburst was the longest sentence he'd heard from the dragon in days.

Cybela stroked the senseless whelp's forehead.   "This has been going on for quite awhile, to get to this stage.  Poor dear..."  She looked up at the human prince.  "It's a very good thing you asked me for help, Anduin.  Another day or two and his body would have started to shut down, I think."

"What is it?  Some draconic disease?"

"Not a disease, exactly.  More of a...deficiency."

"Of what?"

"Raw meat."  Cybela ran a finger along Wrathion's ribs.  "See, the process of cooking meat makes it safe for mortals to digest, but it removes some of the things dragons need to stay healthy.  Do you know what he _has_ been eating?"

"Uh, just whatever they serve in the tavern here, as far as I know."

"Which is cooked and seasoned to pandaren standards, I assume?"

"Well, yeah."

"Does he ever hunt his own prey?"

Anduin shrugged.  "I have no idea.  I've never seen him do it, anyway.   Well, there was a rat, once.  Tong was glad to get it out of his kitchen."

"One rat is hardly enough to offset a poor diet."   Cybela carefully laid the whelp down on the pillow and rummaged through her leather satchel.  "Now where did I pack those herbs?  Ah, here we go."  She brought out a number of different vials and packets of herbs.  "I'll get him stabilized first, and then we'll see about getting him some fresh meat."

"So he's going to be all right?" Anduin said with obvious relief.

"Well...I hope so.  I've never treated someone with this ailment before.  It's pretty rare."

Wrathion stirred back to consciousness as she dripped an herbal concoction into his mouth.  He instinctively swallowed, then coughed.   "Poisoning me?" he choked.

"Of course not," she said, gently supporting his head as she dribbled more medicine onto his swollen tongue.  "This will make you feel better."

He tightly shut his mouth and shook his head adamantly.   Moving his head like that made his dizziness come back tenfold, however, and the medicine came right back up onto her sleeve.

"There, there.  It's all right," she soothed, laying him back into his nest of blankets.  "Just rest now."  She covered him up to his chin and patted his snout.

He coughed, groaned and closed his eyes.

Cybela wiped off her sleeve with a towel and set aside her medicine satchel.   Anduin watched in silence as she stood with her hands outstretched over the sickbed, palms down.  She inhaled slowly and deeply, and when she exhaled golden light began to glow from her hands.

The human prince tried to listen to the spell she was mumbling, but her voice was soft and the language was not one he knew.  Cybela tipped her head back, golden energy still radiating down from her raised arms.  Wrathion did not react to the strange light, but after a minute he did seem to relax a little.

Anduin noticed with amazement that small green tendrils of vegetation were curling up around the bed.  Buds formed and seconds later tiny pink and yellow blossoms unfurled.  They faded out of sight after a few heartbeats, as did the vines, only to be replaced by fresh growth right after.  Was that a _druid_ spell?   Anduin had heard of a few blood elves who dabbled in druidic magic, but they were rare, and besides, Cybela was a high elf...wasn't she?  True, he had never seen a high elf _or_ a blood elf with golden eyes, but...

He suddenly realized that the healing magic radiating down from her hands was the same shade of gold as her eyes.  Coincidence?

Before he could ponder any further over the situation, Cybela gave a dramatic sigh and lowered her arms.  The light and the etheral plant life all faded away as if they had never been there.  She bent down to inspect the results, apparently satisfied.  "That should take away the pain for awhile," she murmured.  "Now rest while I go hunt down some _real_ food for you."   

Wrathion gave no indication that he was aware of anything that was happening.

She straightened again and turned to Anduin.  "Let him sleep.   I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Wait... _you're_ going hunting?  There are plenty of Blacktalon agents and guards around, we could send some of them to--"

She shook her head in a way that invited no disagreement.  "No, I know what I'm looking for.  I won't be long."  With that, she put up the hood of her cloak again and swept past him, out the door.

Anduin pursed his lips in thought.  There was something odd about this elf, but she did appear to be genuinely trying to help Wrathion, so whatever secrets she had would have to wait.  He glanced at the unconscious dragon and made yet another prayer to the Light for his recovery.


	4. Chapter 4

A full hour passed and Cybela still had not returned from her hunt.  Anduin dozed in his chair for awhile, occasionally waking up to check on his friend.  Wrathion was still sound asleep.  The human rubbed his eyes.  _Better not let Father know I fell asleep in the same room as a black dragon_ , he thought with amusement.  _He'd have a heart attack._

Yet this dragon was too sick to move from his pillow, and his back legs twitched in restless spasms.  Anduin remembered once, many years ago, when one of the royal hunting hounds had fallen ill.  She had suffered from similar convulsions, before one of the king's men put her out of her misery. It was not one of his fondest memories. 

The prince rose from his chair and carefully stretched his bad leg, wincing in pain.  He had not gotten nearly enough exercise in the last few days, but his mind had been elsewhere.  Relying heavily on his cane, he crossed the room several times, and was considering a walk into the corridor when the door eased open.  He turned to see Cybela, looking tired but pleased.  Her hooded cloak and red dress were oddly spotless despite her errand.

"How was the hunt?" he asked.

She carried a burlap sack into the room, and Anduin immediately smelled fresh blood.  "This should be a good start."

He saw his chance.  "Since you're back, I'm going to take a break and get something less, er, raw to eat.  If you need me, ask one of the scary-looking people in the hallway.  They're Wrathion's guards, and such.  They know where to find me."

The elf smiled graciously.  "Of course.  I can handle things from here."

Anduin nodded, sent one more silent prayer in Wrathion's direction, and slipped out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Now alone with her patient, Cybela put her traveling cloak on a hook behind the door and pulled a chair from the table over to the bedside. 

Wrathion made an irritated noise at having been woken up but did not move or fully open his eyes.  She took one of the blankets and draped it over her shoulder, then picked up the listless whelp and nestled him into the crook of her left arm.

"Don't touch me!"  The command carried little weight when he could barely hold his head up.  Such embarrassing weakness did nothing to improve his mood.  "Guards!" he rasped, but his voice was not strong enough to carry through the door and into the hallway, so no one came.

"Ssh," she breathed, wrapping the blanket around his bottom half to contain his struggling.  "Calm down.  I'm here to help you."  

" _Help_ me?  Your flight wants me dead."   He managed to scratch her with his claws, but didn't have the strength to break the skin, and she barely flinched at the red lines on her forearm.  Just that small bit of speaking and moving took nearly all the energy he had, and he struggled to maintain consciousness.

"Some may.  I'm not one of them.  Now, your human friend thinks I'm an elf, so let's keep up that pretense for now.  He was asking around the Shrine of Seven Stars for someone with experience healing dragons, and I couldn't very well stand by and let a sick whelp suffer.  I didn't know it was _you_ until I got here.  But honestly, I mean you no harm.  And I know what's wrong with you."

In spite of himself, he perked up to listen.

"You haven't been eating enough raw meat.  Eating the same food the mortals do isn't enough to keep you healthy.  You _have_ to eat fresh, uncooked meat."

Wrathion blinked, trying to wrap his foggy mind around this concept.  "Absurd," he mumbled.  "It can't be that simple."

She reached into the bag with her free hand and pulled out a stringy tendril of red meat.  "Here.  Eat."  She dangled it in front of his nose, and he stubbornly turned his head.  "Now don't be difficult.  You _need_ to eat this."

Against his will, Wrathion's mouth watered at the smell of the fresh meat.  Finally, he snapped his jaws and ate the scrap from her hand.

"Good," she said, nodding.  "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

He did not dignify this with a response, but chewed quickly.   The tang of blood stirred powerful instincts deep in his reptilian brain, and when Cybela offered him a second bite he did not hesitate.  When that was swallowed, he looked for a third helping, but she made no move toward the bag.  "That's enough for now.  Don't overdo it."

He licked blood from his teeth.  "Eat, don't eat...   Make up your mind!"

"You've been malnourished for longer than you even realize.  If you eat too much too fast you'll just get sick."

Too weak to argue any further, he did not struggle as she wrapped him more snugly in the blanket and laid him against her shoulder.  From a distance she would have looked like any elven mother rocking her infant...until someone got close enough to notice that her "baby" had scales and wings.

At first Wrathion was humiliated at such treatment.   He was the Black Prince!  He was a guardian of Azeroth!  He was the mastermind of a dozen intricate plots!  He was the leader of a vast intelligence network!  He was...so warm and comfortable....

Cybela slowly rubbed his back, tilting her head to rest against him.

It became utterly impossible to keep his eyes open.  Oh well.

What was that sound?  It was...soothing.   Bump...bump...bump...  He realized with a small jolt that he was hearing her heartbeat.  The only heartbeat he had ever heard before was Fahrad's, and that seemed like part of another lifetime, now...

If he had been born into a normal family, he would have slept in a pile of his siblings near his mother every night for the first few months of his life.  Not that he had ever known that warm feeling of security, of course, thanks to the _red dragonflight's_ meddling.

Wrathion felt himself floating off into sleep once more, and could not fight it.

 

* * *

 

Warmth.  Safety.  Belonging.

Energy enveloped him, different in many ways from his own, yet still distinctly draconic.

He had been sleeping again.  Where was he?  Whose hands were drifting tenderly across his back?

He knew the answers to those questions...didn't he?  He should.  If he could just think.  Everything felt like it was spinning slowly.

Pain and sickness flared up, and chirps of distress came unbidden from his throat.

A female voice whispered comforting words in draconic.  A sensation like baking summer sunshine swept over him, and his body gave a shudder before relaxing.

He was sinking, falling, losing himself in the pleasant numbess.

This had to be his mother.  Nyxondra had come to bring him across to the other side of the sky.

Unwilling to open his eyes, he pressed his face into her softness and held on tighter.

Panic sliced through his stupor as he remembered his mission.   The Legion was still coming.  He had to save Azeroth.

But such concerns seemed so distant.  Right now all he could think of was how ill he was, and how the arms that held him seemed to make it better.

There was a faint trilling noise.  He tried to remember if he had ever heard such a sound before.  He hadn't, but it was familiar, somehow.   That made no sense.

Nothing made sense.

The soft object against his body vibrated slightly as the odd trilling noise grew in intensity.

Whatever it was, it soon made him feel completely at peace.   Everything would be all right.  Of course it would.  He was safe.   He was protected.  He was loved.  There was nothing to worry about.

He sighed out the last traces of tension and slipped back into a deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

Many times during her stay at the Ruby Dragonshrine, Cybelastrasza had heard the orphan matrons comfort frightened or sick whelplings with a soothing, trilling noise deep in their throats.  She had not felt comfortable asking about it, but had come to understand that it was something mother dragons did to calm their clutches.  Once or twice she had attempted to mimic it, but felt silly and didn't want to be caught doing anything that would reinforce her reputation as strange.

As she heard the classic distress call burble out of Wrathion, however, instinct took over and she made the answering sound without hesitation.   Even more amazingly, it worked.  The whelp stopped trembling and sank into her, returning to untroubled slumber.

She simply watched him breathe for a few minutes, noting that his scales were dull and unhealthy-looking.  At least, she thought so.  She had never seen a black dragon before, of course.  Few in her generation had.  He was the only one left.  The last.

Cybela blinked back tears and held him tighter.  _I will save him, Mama,_ she thought.  _I promise.  Your sacrifice was not in vain._

Wrathion's stomach made a hollow, unsettled noise as it worked to digest the first proper food it had seen in far too long.

She stopped stroking his back long enough to gesture along with a murmured spell, and golden light briefly pulsed over him.

Now the only sounds coming from her patient were quiet snores.

Satisfied that she had done everything she could for the moment, Cybela settled back in her chair, keeping the whelp snugly tucked against her chest.  In time, she joined him in sleep.

 

* * *

 

How many hours passed before Wrathion regained full consciousness, he had no idea.  It was still dark out, anyway, with only the dim light of the lantern hanging above the table to illuminate the room.

He sensed a red dragon nearby and briefly panicked, thrashing feebly against her.  After a moment he remembered the situation, but only let his guard down a fraction.  No red dragon would really want to help him.  It had to be a trick.  If only he wasn't so sick...

Cybela had been dozing lightly, and the instant she felt him moving in her arms she came awake.  "Would you like something more to eat?" she asked.

"Go away," he snarled.  "I don't trust you...don't want you here..."  His normally confident voice was frustratingly weak and slurred. 

"Maybe not, but I bet you'd like dying even less."   She smiled and picked out a few more strands of meat for him.

Wrathion's mind urged him to refuse, but his body was drawn to the food by powerful instinct.  He snapped it out of her hand, narrowly missing her fingers, and chewed with relish.  After swallowing, he looked to her for more.

She made no move toward the sack of meat.   "Take it slowly," she insisted.  "You need to rebuild your strength a bit at the time."

Wrathion snorted and sulked.  He wanted to insult her, to demand that she leave him alone, to tell her that she was foolish for daring to approach him after everything her flight had done to him.  Somehow he didn't have the energy to say all that, though.

Cybela arranged the blanket around him again.  "Are you warm enough?"

"Don't baby me," he croaked.

"I don't think you realize how dangerously close you were to dying.  If your friend hadn't found me to help..."'

"Meddling human...  Won't mind his own business."

"You owe him your life, like it or not," she chided.

He made a sour face but did not have the stamina for further complaints.  Truth be told, he was far too comfortable to remain cranky and had to admit, if only to himself, that he did need help.

Wrathion had always prided himself on being independent.   He had ordered the extermination of his entire dragonflight, and that was fine because he didn't need them or anyone else.  He was strong enough to make it on his own.  He had to be, for Azeroth's sake.

He didn't need this soothing, attentive figure who was snuggling him close and rocking him back to sleep.  He didn't need this oddly pleasant feeling of having another dragon around.

He didn't _need_ any of it, but at the moment he was powerless to resist, so he might as well go along with it.

 

* * *

 

Anduin took it as good news that no one had come for him overnight.  Left and Right gave him curious looks as he limped toward the Black Prince's door after breakfast.  They had believed him when he said the strange elf was there to help their leader, but their training made them suspicious of everyone.

"All quiet overnight?" Anduin asked.

Right nodded.

He knocked just twice, not wanting to wake the other prince if he was resting.  "Come in," came Cybela's voice.

She was still sitting in her chair by the bed, cradling a sleeping whelp in her lap.  She looked tired but pleased.  "It's been a long night, but he's kept down all the meat I've fed him, and the spasms in his legs have stopped."

"Hmm?" Wrathion stirred, stretched, and looked up in momentary confusion at finding himself in such an odd place.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she cooed.

"Oh, right," he mumbled.  " _You_."

"Feeling any better?" Anduin asked.

Wrathion winced upon realizing that his coddling had been witnessed.  "I've been worse," he said after a moment, doing his best to sound haughty.

"Breakfast?"  Cybela offered him a small bit of meat, which he slurped up eagerly.

"That's the most alert I've seen you in many days," Anduin said happily.

"Amazing what the right diet can do," she said.  "Dragons can live among the mortal races if they want to, but when they forget to _eat_ like a dragon they face the consequences."

"I don't need a lecture."  Wrathion sneered.

"Well, he's got enough energy to be disagreeable.   That's a good sign," Anduin said with a grin.

"And you, Anduin!"  Wrathion whipped his head around to glare at the human, but doing so made his dizziness return, and he closed his eyes with a gasp.  When he dared to open them again, his expression was only a fraction less angry.  "You had the gall to bring some stranger into my sanctum?   What made you think of such a foolish, presumptious plan?"

Anduin took the insults in stride, too relieved to see him feeling better to let himself be provoked.  "It was a measure of last resort.  Nothing else had helped, and I wasn't about to stand by and watch you die if I thought there was an alternative."

"And why do _you_ care what happens to me?"

"Because the Light compels me to lessen the suffering of others.  Because you deserve a chance to prove you're truly uncorrupted.  Because I do believe you mean well, even if I don't always agree with your methods.  And because you're my friend...the best one I've had in a long time."

Wrathion faltered, unable to think of a proper response.

"Rest up, Black Prince.  You owe me an awful lot of _jihui_ games when you feel up to sitting at the table again."  Anduin reached out and patted the whelp's head before heading for the door.

"Did you just _pet_ me?" he gasped.   "Anduin Wrynn, I've had people _executed_ for lesser insults!"

Anduin stifled a laugh as he shut the door behind him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"No, the Black Prince is not here right now.  Leave your report in this box.  His Majesty will read it when he returns."

Anduin carefully scaled the steps into the Tavern in the Mists, returning from his evening walk.  He had heard Blacktalon agents give the same excuses for days.  Wrathion's spy network did not rest, and a constant flow of information arrived from all over Pandaria--and, Anduin strongly suspected, the rest of Azeroth.  He had not been able to sneak a peek at any of the correspondence, but he could not underestimate the reach of the Black Prince's eyes and ears.

As he neared the stairs to the second floor of the inn, he met Cybela coming down.  Whenever she left the sickroom she wore her cloak with her hood up and tried to avoid contact with others.  Anduin had asked Tong about why she wasn't welcome here, but he had no memory of kicking out any elves matching her description.  The human prince found that odd, but did not push the matter.

Cybela had her eyes fixed on her own feet, hiding in her cloak so much that she didn't even notice Anduin beside her.  She jumped when he put a hand on her arm to halt her.

"Sorry," he said.  "I didn't mean to startle you."

She turned to face him with a relieved smile.  "It's fine.  I just didn't see you there."

"How is he?" Anduin asked quietly.

"Sleeping again now.  But he ate well."   Such had been the norm in the three days since Cybela's arrival.

"Have you eaten yet?"

Her reply was suspiciously quick and defensive.  "Yes.  I got something when I was out hunting earlier."

Anduin regarded her curiously.  She was definitely hiding something.  "So," he said casually, "how did you end up studying dragon health?  From the difficulty I've had researching, I assume it's not a popular course of study."

"Not many mortals have abilities strong enough to heal a dragon."

Anduin raised an eyebrow.  "'Mortals'?"

She bit her lip in hesitation.  "Oh, um, yeah..."  She looked deep into the human's blue eyes and finally judged him trustworthy.  "I guess I may have failed to mention my full name...Cybelastrasza."

Anduin gave a sharp intake of breath, then nodded slowly.   Everything suddenly made much more sense.  Of course.  Cybela wasn't an elf; she was a red dragon.  "I'm sorry, I didn't realize...what you are."

"It's all right.  I wasn't exactly forthcoming, either."

"But wait, last I heard your flight wanted Wrathion dead or imprisoned."

Her expression darkened.  "Some do.  I am not one of them." 

Anduin glanced up the stairs in the direction of the Black Prince's room.  "Does he know?"

"Of course.  Our kind can recognize each other, regardless of the forms we choose."

"And he's...okay with that?"

She gave an impish grin.  "He doesn't exactly have a choice, does he?"

Anduin smirked.  "Not really, at the moment."

Cybela put a hand on his shoulder.  "I promise I mean him no harm."

"I believe you.  And thank you."

She looked down modestly.  "I'm going to go hunting again now.  It's best if what he eats is freshly killed, at least until he's recovered a bit more."

"Good luck."

Cybela nodded gratefully and slipped out the back door of the tavern.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion awoke to find himself alone in his room.  That hadn't happened much lately.  He took the opportunity to take stock of his condition.   He was lying on his stomach, which hadn't been possible just a day ago due to tenderness.  His headache was still there, throbbing deep in his skull, but it was duller now.  

He slowly sat up and stretched.  As long as he didn't make any sudden turns, his dizziness was tolerable.  He unfurled his wings and carefully lifted himself off the pillow for a brief test flight.  Within a few seconds, gravity won and he made an undignified crash landing onto the futon. 

Grumbling in frustration, he got himself right side up again.   This was ridiculous.  He had important things to do.  He couldn't afford to be bedridden any longer.  Yet just that bit of exertion had left him breathless and lightheaded.

If flying wasn't an option, perhaps shapeshifting was.  He closed his eyes to concentrate, finding it especially difficult to do so.   "Focus, Wrathion," he whispered to himself.  "You've done this a million times before; you haven't forgotten how."

He felt his body stretching, wings retracting, tail shrinking, scales smoothing out, nose squashing, hair growing, clothes forming, limbs lengthening...   There!

Once again in his favored human guise, he flopped backward with a cavernous sigh, feeling as if he had accomplished something tremendous.  True, before he got sick he would shapeshift many times a day without giving it a second thought, but considering the condition he had been in, being able to do it at all was significant.

The room was spinning, so he laid very still, sprawled across the futon with his legs on the floor and his head against the wall, while he recovered.   He had on the same, plain, horribly wrinkled clothes he had been wearing the first time Anduin came to check on him, but changing was out of the question until his head cleared.

"Suppertime!" came a cheerful voice as the door opened.  "I brought back some--  Oh!"  Cybela stopped in her tracks and nearly dropped the bag of meat.  To her credit, she recovered quickly.   "Well.  I, uh, wasn't expecting that form yet."

He used his elbows to push himself into a half-sitting position and smirked at her.

"You must be feeling better, to be able to shapeshift."  She shut the door and took off her cloak, hanging it on a hook next to the bookcase.  

"I am."  He sat up the rest of the way and was unable to suppress a flinch of vertigo.  "Somewhat," he amended.   "But I'm strong enough to call for my guards now, so don't get any ideas about attacking me or trying to kidnap me."

Cybela made a disgusted noise and shook her head.   "I'm trying to make you _better_ , not worse, silly.  You don't have to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid," he said quickly, glowering at her with eyes that had regained some of their fire.

"Good, because I promise I'm not going to hurt you."  She rearranged his pillows to better accommodate his human form.  "I thought you might be getting tired of mountain goat so I went a little further away to hunt this time and got some otters from the river in the Valley of the Four Winds.  I picked up a few fish, too, but you really should stick to mostly red meat for now."

"Let's wait a bit on that," he said with a grimace.

"Shapeshifting didn't agree with you?"

He put a hand to his mouth and shook his head.

"I have something that should help."  She rummaged around in her satchel of herbs for a moment and found a vial of yellow liquid.   "Here.  Oil of earthroot, perfect for upset stomachs."

He reluctantly took the vial from her and swallowed it in one gulp.

"Now lie very still.  You should be feeling better soon."  She helped flatten his pillows and guided him onto his back.

Wrathion closed his eyes and turned his head away from her.   Showing weakness to _anyone_ chafed his considerable ego, but why did it have to be one of the reds?  He wanted nothing to do with them.  He didn't trust them.  He could never forgive them for what they had done.

Cybela stepped away and returned a moment later with a damp cloth.  Without a word, she gently laid it across his brow and then sat down in the chair next to his bed.  The cool moisture did feel nice, he supposed.

She began to hum quietly to herself, a tune that he didn't recognize.  His first instinct was to be annoyed.  He was _trying_ to rest.  Against his will, however, he found himself relaxing.  Whether it was her wordless song or the medicine, or the combination of both, he felt his breathing slow and his stomach calm.

He shouldn't allow himself to let his guard down in the presence of a red dragon.  Although, if she was planning to kill him, she could have easily done so by now.  There was not a hint of hostility about her.  Such foolish idealism was typical of a red.  She probably hoped to charm him into compliance somehow.

Cybela reached over and flipped the damp cloth on his forehead so that the cooler side was against his skin, all the while humming softly.

She couldn't possibly be doing all this because she cared whether he lived or died.  The red dragonflight had tried to manipulate, imprison and destroy him since before he even hatched.  Cybelastrasza was no different.   Whatever she was scheming, however, seemed to include him recovering from his illness.  Fine, then.  Let her nurse him back to health.  When he had his full strength back, she would regret meddling with him.

For now, he found sleep beckoning and did not have the fortitude to fight it.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke over an hour later, Cybela was still in the chair right beside his bed, reading a book.  He noted with a flash of irritation that it was one of the tomes from his private collection.

"Feeling better?" she asked pleasantly, setting the book aside.

He rubbed his eyes and thought for a moment.  The nausea was gone.  In fact, he was hungry.  "Yes."  He was hesitant to move in case the vertigo returned, but by making small, careful movements he managed to sit up without discomfort.

"Good," she said.  "Would you like to try eating now?  I had Tong skin the otters I caught so you don't have to worry about the fur.  They're down in the kitchen, sitting on top of the stove so they stay warm but don't get cooked."

He was taken aback by her thoughtfulness.   "Um, yes, I am rather hungry."

She looked genuinely happy to hear it.  "I'll be right back with supper, then.  Sit tight."  Her bright red boartails flopped back and forth as she sprang up, grabbed her cloak, and headed out the door.

Wrathion shook his head and propped himself up with pillows.   Either she was very good at hiding her true intentions, or she actually cared about his well-being.  There had been only one red dragon who had ever done so, and she had been dead for two years.  

His earliest, dim memory was of a mechanical voice declaring, "Viable subject compiled.  No anomalies detected."  He surmised this was the Titan artifact that had cleansed his egg of the Old Gods' influence.  The first person to speak directly to him was Rheastrasza.  His memories of her were good ones, warm and comforting, but all too brief.

It was only later that he found out Rhea's role in his mother's imprisonment and death, and his own agonizing creation.  He hated the red dragonflight for what they had done, yet somehow he could not find it in his heart to hate Rheastrasza.  She had apologized to him and later sacrificed her own life to protect him.  Her actions may have caused him, his mother, and his siblings great suffering, but in the end she had been working toward the same goal that Wrathion himself later took on:  freeing Azeroth of the threat of the corrupted black dragonflight.   Besides, she was dead and could not harm him, so it was safe to forgive her.   Cybelastrasza, on the other hand...

The door opened and he caught a glimpse of Right peeking at him with a relieved smile before the "elf" swept past her with a wooden tray and shut the door with her foot.  He immediately smelled raw meat and felt his mouth water.

"Here you go," she said cheerfully, setting the tray in his lap.  It was a bit absurd to see bloody, unprepared meat lying on one of Tong's best plates alongside a pearl-handled steak knife and a shiny fork.  It must have galled the proud innkeeper to let food leave his kitchen in such a state.  It looked heavenly to the hungry dragon, however.  He immediately grabbed the utensils and began eating.

"Not too fast, now," Cybela said in a motherly tone as she took off her cloak again.

"I know how to eat," he grumbled through a full mouth.

"Do you?" she said with a smug smile.   "Then how did you get into this predicament in the first place?"

He shot her an angry glare, tilting the bloody knife in her direction.

She looked unimpressed and sat down in her chair again.

Wrathion took another bite of meat and made an appreciative noise in spite of himself.

"Good?"

He nodded.

"Never had otter before?"

"Not that I know of.  It's hard to tell sometimes, when Tong adds spices and vegetables and such."

"You can still eat some of that to keep up appearances, but you'll have to hunt, too.  Don't you enjoy hunting?"

"It's not a matter of enjoyment.  I'm usually too busy to bother."

"Don't you ever just go out and play?"

He regarded her with regal disdain.  "Play?   Nonsense.  I have more important things to do."

Cybela shook her head sadly.  "There's more than just diet to teach you, I think.  I've heard that you're really smart as far as history, magic, politics and all that, but you need to learn the basics of being a whelp!"

"I do just fine, thank you," he sniffed disdainfully.   She gave a sarcastic look, and he self-consciously adjusted his wrinkled shirt.   "Recent health difficulties not withstanding."

"We'll see about that," she said with a sly smile.

He ate in silence for a few minutes, then looked around at the sickroom with a bored sigh.  He was getting thoroughly tired of being cooped up here.   "Was all this really because I wasn't eating enough raw meat?"

"Yep."

He scowled and looked away.  "How humiliating.   You must think me a complete idiot."

"At first?  A little," she confessed, and he gave her an indignant look.  "But then I realized it made sense.  You've been raised by mortals.  A healthy diet for them is completely wrong for our kind.  You had no way of knowing."

He did, however.  Fahrad had warned him, but in the excitement of everything going on in Pandaria, he hadn't thought twice about his diet.   Anger at his own carelessness mixed with a spike of grief for Fahrad, and he scowled.

He chewed for a minute before he decided to change the subject, if only to get his mind off such sad recollections.  "So, tell me, Cybelastrasza...  What brings you to Pandaria, anyway?  I wasn't aware that the other dragonflights had any interest in this place."

"They don't.  I only came to find you."

Wrathion looked up with an suspicious glare.  "To capture me and drag me back to the Vermillion Redoubt, I suppose?"

"What?  No!"  Cybela sat up straighter in her chair.  "None of the others know I'm here.  Nor do they care, as far as I know.  I'm just another orphan of the war against Deathwing. But I just _had_ to meet you."

"Why?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I told you.  You're my only connection to my mother.  And I think she would want me to protect you."

"I have my Blacktalons for protection."

"A lot of good they did when you fell ill."

"I..."  He sighed, unable to counter this.

"And they aren't dragons.  You should have another member of your species around."   She stood up, then began to shrink.   Wings sprouted from her back, crimson scales appeared in place of her skin and clothes, and her boartails morphed into two blunt horns.  When her transformation was complete, she hovered before him as a whelp the same size as he was in his true form.

Wrathion shook his head and gave an irritated click of his tongue.  "We're the same age, yet you've been coddling me like an infant."

"I _am_ a month older than you," she said with a tinge of pride.  "But age has nothing to do with it.  I've been trained to protect and nurture all life.   Even the lives of ungrateful black whelps."

"Excuse me?" he sputtered.  "I am not...ungrateful."

She pouted.  "You might try acting like it."

"You're awfully bossy for such a little whelp."

She gawked in disbelief.  "Look who's talking!"

A single laugh escaped him.  "Point taken.  Very well.  Never let it be said that the Black Prince does not acknowledge services done for him.  Thank you, Cybelastrasza, for saving my life."

Taken aback, she simply stared at him for a moment.   "Y-you're welcome."

"That doesn't mean, however, that I trust you, or would hesitate to have my guards tear you limb from limb if you double-cross me."

At first she looked outraged and defensive at this comment, but after a few breaths her expression shifted to one of pity.  "You really are afraid and alone, aren't you?"

"What?  No!"

"In all the days I've been here, that yellow-haired human is the only one who's come to visit out of concern for you.  You have no other real friends, do you?"

"I have scores of mortal champions at my beck and call," he said with a haughty sniff.  "And _they_ know to address me as 'Your Majesty.'"

"Those aren't _friends_."  She shook her head sadly.  "And you have no family."

"Yes, I'm quite well aware of that, because I had them all killed.  On purpose."  He sneered.

"That must have been terrible."

"It was...necessary."  Fahrad's face flickered across his mind, and he once more felt a flash of unwelcome grief.

Cybela flew down to perch on the bedside table.  "You don't have to be alone, you know."

"And I'm not," he said stubbornly.  "Now clear this tray away and let me get some proper rest."

She shifted back into a pale elf with golden eyes and apple-red hair, then pulled on her cloak.  "As you wish, _Your Majesty,_ " she said icily, picking up the tray.  Without another glance in his direction, she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Anduin knew the instant he saw the aggravated look on Cybela's face that Wrathion's sharp tongue was back to normal.  The human prince sat with his feet by the coals of a table warmer, enjoying a cup of cider before bed.  

The skirt of her gold and crimson gown rippled behind her as she stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen.  He heard a clang and a thump as she dumped the tray and dishes, then stormed back into the main room of the inn and flopped down at the table facing him.

"So how is your patient?" Anduin asked, already knowing the answer.  They did not refer to Wrathion by name while in the public areas of the inn for secrecy's sake.

"Disagreeable," she said, carefully enunciating each syllable while scratching her sharp fingernails into the wooden table.

"So I gathered.  That must mean he's feeling better."

Cybela looked up with a worried expression.  "Is he always so...so..."  She concluded with a frustrated noise.

"Not always.  Just when his dignity is wounded."

"So he's not corrupted, then."

"No.  Just...difficult, sometimes."  Anduin grinned fondly.

"But you are still his friend."

"Yeah."  Anduin considered for a moment.  "I've only known him a few months.  I'm never sure if he's telling the full truth, although I don't sense that he's lying, either, exactly.  He just has a lot of secrets.  I enjoy his company, though.  We spend a lot of time discussing world events and playing _jihui_.  He _can_ be pretty hard to deal with when he's in one of his moods, though."

"So I've discovered," she grumbled.

"He also insists that he's neutral in the Horde/Alliance war, so he probably wouldn't want to go so far as to call me a friend."

"What about the war?" she asked blankly.

"Oh, um," Anduin faltered awkwardly.  "My father is King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind."

Cybela bolted to her feet and scrambled to curtsey.   "Your Majesty!  I'm so sorry!  I didn't recognize you!   Forgive me!  Oh dear, I've been so informal.  I didn't mean any disrespect!"

Anduin felt his cheeks growing hot and hoped he wasn't blushing.  "Please, no, sit down, it's fine.  You saved my friend's life.   That's what matters.  If I wanted to be bowed to I'd have introduced myself properly.  If anything, I owe you an apology for not doing so."

She sat back down at the table and tried to compose herself.

Giving her an extra moment to collect her thoughts, Anduin sipped his drink before asking, "After he's fully recovered, what are your plans?  Are you going back to the Ruby Dragonshrine?"

"No," she said immediately.  An angry frown crossed her face before a softer, more troubled expression returned.  "To be honest, I hadn't really thought beyond finding him and hopefully getting to know him."

"If you need anything, just ask.  I'm in your debt."

She smiled nervously.  "Not at all.  If anyone is in my debt, it's the one snoring upstairs."  She glanced in that direction and lowered an eyebrow.  "He's not quite what I expected, I must say."

"He's not at his best right now, for obvious reasons.   Don't judge him too harshly yet."

"I'm trying, Your Majesty.  I'm really, really trying."

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Cybela sat in one of the chairs by the window in the Black Prince's room, reading one of his books.  He had been sleeping in his true body the last time she tip-toed over to check on him, but now she heard him stir.  Before she could inquire if he needed anything, he spoke.

"You.  Out.  Now."

"Hmm?"  She put aside the book and approached the bed.

Wrathion had a pained expression on his face.  "Leave," he ordered.

"What's the matter?"

He sat up.  "I don't need to explain anything to the likes of _you_.  Just go away."  He shakily got to his feet, using his wings for balance but too weak to actually fly.

She reached out to steady him.   "Careful.  Where are you going?"

"None of your business," he snarled, nipping toward her hand with his razor-sharp teeth.  His stomach sloshed audibly, and he could not suppress a flinch of discomfort as he hobbled toward the foot of the bed.

She suddenly understood.  "Oh, you have a tummyache, don't you?  Your body is still adjusting to the change in diet.  I imagine it's not digesting quite the way it should."

He grit his teeth and avoided eye contact.  "That's one way to put it.  Now would you _leave_?"

"Why?"

"So I can have some privacy!" he snapped.   "Do I have to spell it out for you?"  He slid off the edge of the bed near where the chamber pot sat on the floor.

"Oh, that's right," she said, bopping herself on the forehead.  "I forget you're used to mortal customs.  Back at the dragonshrine we had communal dung piles.  It's all part of life, after all.   Nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Spare me your red platitudes and _get out!_ " he roared.

"All right, all right!  I'll go.  If you need help just--"

" _Now!_ "

She rolled her eyes, grabbed her cloak from the hook by the door to hide her distinctive, apple-red hair, and exited the room.

 

* * *

 

Anduin was ready to retire for the night but first he made a detour toward the Black Prince's room to see how his friend was doing.  Before he reached it, though, he found Cybela sitting in the hallway, leaning back against the wall while hugging her knees to her chest.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

She looked up to greet him with a smile, brushing back the edge of her hood to see him better.  "Yes, more or less, except His Royal Grouchiness kicked me out for awhile."

Anduin chuckled.  "What did you do?"

"Nothing," she said crossly.  "He's just being stubborn."

"Ah, the usual, then," he teased.

"Sort of."  She sighed.  "Anduin, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"I've spent pretty much my entire life among other dragons, and he's spent his among mortals.  There are some...customs and sensibilities, I guess you could say, that I don't always understand."

"Such as?"  He leaned on the wall beside her, not quite confident enough about his injured leg to risk sitting down on the floor as she had.

"Well, there are the obvious ones like wearing clothes and not eating raw meat."  She paused, then blurted out, "And apparently you mortals are ashamed to be seen passing waste."

It took all Anduin's skill in diplomacy not to let out a startled laugh.  "Um, yeah, that's generally done in privacy."

"At the shrine where I came from, everybody went in the same area.  It was no big deal.  Some of it got gathered up to help fertilize the flower beds, and the tuskarr would trade for some because they burned it for fuel.   It's all part of the cycle of life, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."  Anduin coughed uncomfortably.

"I mean, everybody does it, so...  I'm sorry, I'm embarrassing you."

"It's fine," he said graciously, still fighting the urge to laugh.  "You have a point, but that's not how humans handle...such matters."

"I feel so stupid sometimes," she said with a troubled frown.  "I'm trying to learn, really.  And I should be used to feeling like the odd one out, but I thought maybe it would be different if..."   She let her voice trail off, resting her chin on her knees.

"You're _not_ stupid, Cybela," Anduin said with a reassuring smile.  "Every culture has their own customs.  They're not inherently right or wrong, just...different."

Her smile returned, albeit a more subdued one.   "Thank you.  If I do or say something inappropriate, promise you'll tell me."

"Certainly."

Cybela got to her feet and looked down the hallway to where a single Blacktalon guard stood outside Wrathion's door.  Now that the prince wasn't as gravely ill, Left and Right had returned to their usual schedule and were off duty for the night.  "I should check on him.   He's still so dizzy most of the time..."

"I was going to stop in before I went to bed, but if he's, er, _indisposed_ then I won't intrude," Anduin said.  "Tell him I hope he feels better soon."

"I will.  Good night, Anduin.  And thank you."

"Any time."  They nodded to each other and went their separate ways.

 

* * *

 

There was no reply to Cybela's knock on the door, but she let herself in anyway, figuring that he hadn't told her _not_ to come in...   "Your Majesty?" she said quietly, shutting the door behind her.

Wrathion was in his nest of pillows again, lying with his back to her.

"Are you feeling any better now?"

He made a noncommittal noise.

"I'm sorry I didn't understand at first.  I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"We're not going to discuss it.  At all.   Ever."

"I know a potion that might help, if the cramping gets too bad."

"Are you deaf?" he snarled, still not turning to face her.  "I said we are _not_ going to discuss it!"

She slouched in defeat and returned to her seat by the window.   She read in silence, pretending not to hear the occasional whines of misery coming from her patient.

 

By midnight Wrathion had shooed Cybela out of his room twice more for the same reason.  After the third such incident, she returned to find him lying on his pillow, curled into a tight ball and making involuntary chirps of distress.

" _Now_ will you take that potion?" she asked impatiently.

"I don't want your stupid medicine," he growled, then squirmed as his stomach twisted.  "Go away."

"I promise it would stop this."

"No."

She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him.   "Would you really rather suffer?"

"I'm fine."

"You are _not_ 'fine,' or you wouldn't keep running to the chamber pot."

"Don't talk about it!"  He buried his face in the pillow, too mortified to look at her.  "Don't say _anything_.   Just go away."

"You are too stubborn for your own good."

"I believe I told you to--ow!  Shut up and leave me alone.  Don't make me call my guards."

"And say what to them?  'Oh help, she's trying to make me feel better!'"  Cybela shook her head and began measuring out herbs on the bedside table.  A minute of chopping, mixing and stirring later, she had a vial of faintly-glowing pink liquid.  She turned to her patient and held the potion under his snout.  "Here.  Drink."

He ignored her, refusing to open his eyes or his mouth.

"This _will_ help."

"I don't need it," he muttered.  As if to spite him, his belly made a gurgling noise.

"Mmm hmm.  Right."  She lightly pressed on his abdomen, and he gasped in pain.  As soon as his mouth opened, she tipped the contents of the vial onto his tongue.

He gulped down most of it before he even realized what was happening.  "Hey!"  He coughed and contorted his face as if he'd tasted the most vile thing imaginable.  "What _is_ that?"

"Just something that will quiet your tummyache.  I won't bore you with a list of ingredients."

"You're sure it's not supposed to make me sicker?"   He glared at her, red eyes bright in the dimly-lit room.

"Positive," she said sweetly.  "Just relax."

"Relax?  Not likely."  He rolled over to face away from her, then doubled over as a fresh cramp gripped his stomach.   "Damn it damn it damn it."  He jumped in surprise as a warm hand came to rest on his back.  "Leave me alone!"

Cybela slowly massaged around the base of his wings and down along his spine.  "I know you're really sick.  I'm just trying to help you."

He sniffed skeptically.

"And I'm sure you're frustrated, but you have to give your body time to adjust to the proper diet.  It won't happen overnight."

"It's been days," he said with more of a whine than he had planned.

"Or over a few days."  Her fingers moved up to rub the back of his neck.

Just as he found himself relaxing a little, the next flash of pain struck, and he jerked forward with a groan.

"Oh, you poor thing.  Would a hot pack help?"

"Nothing helps."

Regardless, she went to the bureau and took a leather water pouch out of a drawer.  A puff of fire from her mouth soon had the water in the wash basin steaming, and she filled the pouch with it.  "Here," she said, gently lifting the ailing whelp.  

He whimpered at being moved, then exhaled deeply as she draped him over the warm bag.  "Oh, that's nice," he said, wrapping all four limbs and his tail around the leather pouch.

Cybela smiled and pulled a blanket up to his chin.   "There.  Feels good, doesn't it?"

He hummed in agreement and closed his eyes.  Several silent minutes passed.  The damp heat seeped into his body, relaxing muscles he wasn't even aware were tense.  His breathing slowed, and he gave a quiet sigh of relief.

"Better?"

He opened one eye and saw Cybela leaning over him with a tenative smile.  Golden light was fading from around her hands.  He hadn't even noticed she was casting a healing spell.

"Much," he mumbled.

"Good."

Wrathion looked up at her skeptically, once again trying to puzzle out what this red dragon could possibly want from him.  Part of him was starting to believe that she truly had no hidden motives for her kindness.  She certainly seemed sincere, and her ministrations _did_ help, even if he hated to admit it.

The crimson-haired "elf" turned to the bedside table and began to clean up the herbs and supplies she had used to make the potion.  He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to imagine what would make one of the red flight want to play nursemaid for the last black dragon.

Without really meaning to, he spoke.  "You don't have to do all this."

"All what?"  She tilted her head at him with an innocence that made him strangely uncomfortable.

"All this, for me.  For Titans' sake, since you walked in here you've done nothing but dote on me around the clock, feeding me, putting up with my, er, digestive difficulties, and listening to me complain and mistrust you.   I appreciate what you've done, but...why?  Why go to all this trouble to help someone who should be your enemy?"

Cybela smiled and lowered her eyes.  "Your Majesty, I am a red dragon.  Strong nurturing instincts are part of who I am.  I'm compelled to preserve life in all its forms.  Yes, sometimes life can be...messy.  But I don't regret anything I've done for you.  I look at you now and see how much better you are compared to when I first arrived--"

He snorted a wisp of smoke to show what he thought of his condition.

"Well, you _are_ better than you were," she chided.  "And I did that!  Without me, you would have died.  Now, you're on the mend.  The satisfaction I feel over that far outweighs anything else."

He looked away awkwardly.  "I dislike feeling obligated to anyone, but I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea how to repay you."

"You could start by telling your Blacktalons that I'm not kill-on-sight anymore.  It's a pain to have to hide inside my hood every time I leave the room."

"Oh.  Right."  He considered this.   "I still don't trust you, you know.  But as long as you continue to expedite my recovery, I suppose I can rescind that kill order."

"I'd appreciate it," she said flatly.   "Aside from that, all I want is to get to know you.   That's why I came here in the first place, after all.  We haven't really had a chance to talk, yet, but maybe when you're all better..."

He gave a noncommittal shrug.  "I have spent my entire life resenting your flight.  It will take more than your efforts here to change that."

Cybela exhaled noisily in frustration.  "Forget the rest of my flight.  Just look at me as...me.  At my age, the only reason I'm out on my own is because I no longer felt welcome at the Ruby Dragonshrine."

"Why would that be?" he asked with a frown.   Suspicions he had thought were finally banished from his mind blossomed anew as he imagined all kinds of devious red dragon conspiracies.

"The others thought my mother was... _strange_ because of her experiments.  Even though the Life Binder sanctioned her work, they didn't dare criticize _her_ , and Mama's not around to defend herself.  They said she was like a mad scientist, chasing an impossible goal until she did things that she shouldn't have.  I got tired of listening to people condemn her and misjudge me.  No one ever asked my opinion on anything because they thought I was as weird as she was.  And maybe I am.  I don't know."  Cybela fidgeted with one of the gold bangles on her pointed elven ears, her distant gaze aimed at the floor.  "They definitely thought I was crazy when I said I was leaving to find you.  The others had written you off as a lost cause, but I didn't want to believe that.  I had faith in my mother's work.  She wouldn't have laid down her life to protect you if she wasn't certain you were purified and destined for important things."

Wrathion self-consciously glanced around at his sickbed.  At the moment he didn't feel worthy of much.

Cybela sat down on the edge of the futon.  "I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you, after everything my flight did to you."

He raised his head off the pillow a little to see her better.   He hadn't expected her to look at the situation from his perspective.  

"But I'm not like them.  Anyone at the dragonshrine would gladly tell you that," she said with more than a little bitterness.

"Why were you staying there in the first place?" he asked.  "I thought the flights' shrines were for the dead, not the living."

She smoothed out a corner of his blanket before answering.   "In ages past, orphaned whelps were raised in the sanctums below Wyrmrest Temple.  Unfortunately the Twilight Cult destroyed the entire lower level.   Did you hear about the incident that took the life of the Dragonqueen's consort?"

He had, of course.  Few major world events escaped his notice--especially when dragons were involved.

Cybela continued.  "So we orphans were raised at the Ruby Dragonshrine instead.  Yes, the shrines are resting places for the dead, but there is life there, too.  Beautiful flowers, lush grass...like a little pocket of paradise in the tundra."  She smiled self-consciously at her own sentimentality.   "Anyway, that's where I learned the healing arts.  But I never felt at home there, and when I reached two years of age--not the customary five, you'll notice, only two--the caretakers hinted that it was time for me to go and find my way in the world."  She gave a harsh, humorless laugh.  "What was there for me, out on my own with no family?"

Wrathion heard echoes of his own situation, and was unable to suppress a swell of sympathy.

"You're the only connection I have to my mother.  I knew you might not want to see me because I'm a red dragon.  I was prepared for you to hate me."

"Cybela," he said quietly.  "I hate what your flight did, yes.  But I don't hate _you_."

She smiled shyly, finally brave enough to make eye contact again.

"You have given me no reason to dislike you.  Quite the opposite, in fact."

"I would do the same for any sick whelp."

"Ah, but you're not doing it for just any sick whelp.   You're doing it for the Black Prince."  He smirked.

"Indeed I am."  She stood and made a quick curtsey.   "And how is His Majesty feeling now?"

"Much better, thank you."

"I'm glad," she said with a warm smile.   "You should get some sleep."

"I intend to," he said, already sounding drowsy.

She tread lightly across the room and doused the lantern by the window.  "I'm not a _green_ dragon so I can't guarantee pleasant dreams, but I hope you rest well."

He gave an amused snort and closed his eyes, sinking further into the warmth of the hot water bottle.  Sleep came almost immediately.

 


	6. Chapter 6

After another full day of rest and red meat, Wrathion insisted on trying to resume at least part of his usual routine.  Tong brought a large basin of hot water up to his room, and despite Cybela's concerns about his dizziness he absolutely forbid her to stay in the room while he washed up.

"Are you okay?" she called through the door for the third time.

"Yes," Wrathion replied with as much weary annoyance as he could pack into one word.  It felt wonderful to wash off a week of sweat and illness, but the longer he was on his feet the more tired he felt.  His hands shook as he rinsed the soap out of his hair and he found himself winded as if he had just run a long distance.  His heart pounded in his chest and the room did not seem quite as stationary as it should have.

He ground his teeth in frustration and hurried to finish before his energy gave out.

"Do you need any help?" Cybela asked through the door.

"No," he snapped.  There was water all over the table and puddled around his bare feet, but he couldn't afford the effort to clean it up.  His legs felt like overcooked pasta, and his head was throbbing.  He hadn't spent as much time and care with his bath as he might have liked, but it would have to do.

He sat down heavily on the futon and forced his trembling hands to work long enough to dress himself.  There was no point in putting on his usual finery, but at least he could make himself a bit more presentable in a fresh pair of black pants and a multi-layered ivory tunic embroidered with intricate designs in gold and brown thread.

"Everything all right?" Cybela asked.

"Yes," he said, trying not to sound as breathless as he was.  "You can come back in now."

The door immediately opened and the "elf" hurried in, golden eyes wide with concern.  "How did it go?  You're awfully pale."

"I'm...fine," he lied unconvincingly.

She flitted back and forth, drying the table and floor with handfuls of towels, straightening up the mess he had made of his bureau getting clean clothes out, and yammering on about how he shouldn't try to do too much too soon.

He tuned her out, concentrating instead on toweling off his wavy hair until it was dry enough.  Damn it, he had planned to venture downstairs and attempt to catch up on all the reports that had no doubt accumulated during the last week, but all he felt like doing was going to sleep.  That wasn't an option.  He had been away too long already.

Wrathion took a deep breath and carefully stood up, hanging onto the wall for support with one hand.  He did not have the option of being sick any longer.  He had responsibilities, and Titans only knew how much had changed in his absence.

Cybela turned around at the sound of him getting to his feet, clearly surprised.  "What are you doing?"

"Going downstairs." 

"What do you need?  I can get whatever it is."   She came between him and the door, putting her hands on his shoulders to steady him.

"I must check in with my Blacktalon agents."

"All that can wait until you're feeling better."

"No, it can't," he said sternly.  "There's no telling what could be going on out there that needs my attention."

"You need to rest."

"I've been out of action far, _far_ too long!" he said with an edge of panic to his voice.  "These are dangerous times, and I cannot afford to...to..."  He closed his eyes, devoutly wishing the room would stop spinning in the opposite direction as his stomach.  His right knee buckled and he began to fall forward.

Cybela put her arms around him, supporting his weight despite her smaller size in their mortal forms.  She managed to guide him back to the bed and eased him onto his back.

Wrathion cursed in Draconic, Titan and Common, keeping his eyes tightly shut.  "I can't--  There isn't time--" he said, attempting to sit up once more.

Cybela firmly pushed him back into the pillows.   "What you _can't_ do is try to rush your recovery and end up back where you started.  You have to rebuild your strength gradually."

"You don't understand!"  He grasped her forearms with an air of desperation, staring straight into her startled eyes.  "I _must_ get back to working on my plans.   The Burning Legion has Azeroth in its sights, and unless this quagmire of a war between the Alliance and the Horde ends before they get here, this entire planet is going to be stripped of life.  We cannot afford to be distracted by the sha, the mogu, or any other petty squabbles.  I _have_ to make them understand, or all will be lost!"

She looked both confused and shocked.  "How do you know that?"

"I have had visions."

"You've been very sick.  You can't trust dreams that come at times like this."

"Not a dream, and not in the last weeks.  It was the day after I first set foot in Pandaria.  But I saw what could happen--what _will_ happen, if this fragile world isn't prepared.  The complete and utter devastation..."  His voice cracked and he found himself closing his eyes again to hide the frustrated tears beginning to burn there.  "I can't let it happen.  I can't!"

Cybela settled down to sit beside him on the futon, still holding onto his arm.  "Wrathion, you're just one dragon.  One very young, inexperienced dragon.  You can't save the world all by yourself."

"I know!  That's why I've been recruiting and arming champions from all walks of life:  the best and the brightest the Alliance and Horde have to offer.  But without me around to guide them, my carefully-laid plans will begin to unravel, and..."  He swallowed back a lump of emotion.  "If you had only seen what I saw..."

Cybela put a hand on his cheek, and he opened his eyes in surprise.  "I believe you," she said simply.

He exhaled with a twinge of relief, once more taken aback by the gentle honesty she projected.

"The thing is, Wrathion...if the Burning Legion arrives today or tomorrow, or the next day, there's nothing you or I can do about it.  Keep planning, yes.  Do everything you can.  But in the long run, you're not doing anybody any good by forcing yourself to function when you're still so sick.  Rest and heal fully so you're the strongest you can be when the time comes."

He brushed damp hair off his forehead and failed to find a counter for her logic.   "I suppose I don't have much choice in the matter, do I?"

"Nope," she said with a teasing grin as she stood up.   "I'll sit on you if I have to."

"Oh, my guards would _love_ that."

She nudged him to lie down flat and covered him up with blankets once more.  "Rest, my prince.  Azeroth won't fall apart in the next few days.  I promise."

"You're a red.  I'm not _your_ prince."

Cybela smiled impishly.  "If orcs, humans, goblins, dwarves and the rest can call you their prince, you can be mine, too."

He raised a curious eyebrow.

"Assuming you're not still planning on breaking my legs, or throwing me down the Path of a Hundred Steps."

He smirked and rubbed the small patch of beard on his chin.    "I suppose you've earned yourself a reprieve.  I still don't completely trust you, you understand, but you've made yourself quite useful."

"Saving you from the brink of death is a little more than 'useful.'"

"Yes, well..."  He cleared his throat.   "Your expertise is appreciated."

Cybela chuckled and shook her head.  "Can't you just say 'thank you'?"

"I did," he said with a confused look.

"No, you said 'your expertise is appreciated.'  Do you even realize how pretentious you sound sometimes?"  Her eyes shone with mischief and there was no real malice behind her words.

Nevertheless, he looked hurt.  "I'm a prince.   I'm _supposed_ to be pretentious."

She laughed harder than he thought was really necessary.

"It's not funny!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry," she said between giggles.   "You just try so hard.  It's cute."

He clenched his teeth.  He had not had to endure being squealed over as "cute" since he learned to take a human form, and it brought back unwelcome memories of a time when he was smaller and vulnerable.  He sat up and glared at her, and the intensity of his reaction made her laughter die immediately.   "I will not tolerate such disrespect!  I am the Black Prince, the last of my kind, guardian of Azeroth!"

Taken aback, she simply stared at him for a moment before her surprised expression hardened into one of annoyance.  "Apologies, Your Majesty," she said coldly.  "I made the mistake of thinking we had become friends."

"Do you insult all your friends?"  He sneered and crossed his arms on his chest.

"I wasn't insulting you.  I was teasing you.   There's a difference."  She tilted her head at him with pity.   "You've never had that kind of relationship with someone, have you?   You've always held yourself above everyone else."

"I _am_ above everyone else."

She made a frustrated noise and briefly covered her face.

"Besides," he added, "Prince Anduin and I tease each other constantly.  I'm familiar with the concept.  But he has never had the audacity to call me _cute_."

"Huh?  'Cute' is a compliment."

" _Cute_ does not inspire fear and respect.  _Cute_ does not motivate champions to risk their lives on my behalf.  _Cute_ does not hold the Burning Legion at bay."

Cybela shook her head and sat down on the edge of the bed again.  "I know you're scared--"

"I am not!"

"--and I know you've had to make your way in the world all by yourself," she continued without acknowledging his interruption, "but you don't have to be the strong, fearsome Black Prince every second of every day.  It's okay to just be yourself sometimes, too."

"I _am_ myself," he snarled.  "I am not some weak, sniveling whelp cowering in a hole.  I am strong because I have had to be, from the very first day of my life, simply to survive.  Do you even know how your _dear_ mother made me?"

"Not exactly, no," she said hesitantly.

He had never spoken of it before, but his earliest memories had always haunted him.  "There was a Titan artifact.  She and her mortal allies used it to fuse me together from parts of my dead siblings--siblings killed on her orders, I should add."

Cybela's mouth dropped open in horror.

"I was subject to agonizing experiments before I hatched, and my brain was shoved so full of Titan data that I could barely think.  I didn't know who I was, or what was happening, or why.  I didn't know who to trust.   Your mother told me my dragonflight was corrupted and I was its only hope, and the only hope for Azeroth.  Hours old and the fate of the world was dumped on my shoulders."  He gave a short, bitter laugh.  "No pressure."

"I didn't know," Cybela said quietly.  "I had no idea...  No wonder the others thought she had overstepped her place.  Did she know what the artifact would do?"

"I suspect not.  Still..."  He shuddered.

"I'm sorry."

A corner of his mouth edged into a half-smile.  "It wasn't your fault."

She looked no less troubled.

"Cybela, I don't wish to taint your image of your late mother.  I do believe her heart was in the right place, trying to save my flight, even if some of the things she did along the way were, frankly, deplorable.   In the very short time I spent with her, she seemed caring and apologetic for everything I had gone through.  I owe her my very existence."

She gave a sad but grateful smile.

"Rheastrasza sent me off to the Vermillion Redoubt, expecting me to be treated well.  Yet I was told in no uncertain terms by multiple members of your flight that I would be held there whether I wanted to be or not, watched every moment, and if they suspected I was falling into corruption I would be killed.   Such a warm welcome to the world."  He sneered.

Cybela's delicate red eyebrows lowered into a frown.   "That can't be what my mother wanted."

"Most likely it wasn't, but she wasn't around to protest.   Fortunately, I was rescued before I could hatch as a prisoner.  I had my freedom, but my duty was much the same.  My entire dragonflight had to be killed.  They were all past saving."  Wrathion's red eyes flared brighter as a scowl took over his face.  "Do you understand what that was like?  I could feel them...familiar presences scattered across the Eastern Kingdoms.  One by one, I felt them die and disappear, and I had to live with the knowledge that it was _my_ hand that signed their death warrants.  Do you know what I feel now when I reach out through the earth in search of one of my flight?  Nothing.  Absolutely _nothing_.   I am the only one of my kind left in the world.  And I have to be _happy_ about that, because the others were all monsters who had to be put down like rabid dogs."

"Oh Wrathion," Cybela murmured in sympathy, reaching out to touch his hand.

He snatched his arm away and would not even meet her eye.   "You say I don't have to be strong every moment of every day, but you're wrong.  If I allow myself to falter, all that has happened will be for nothing.   All I have done..."   He paused, then glared at her.  "I see the pitying looks you give me.  Poor Wrathion, all alone, no family, only one mortal friend..."

She slouched with a guilty smile.  "I can't help it.   I feel sorry for you."

"It _has_ to be that way, don't you see?" he snapped.

"But it doesn't," she said earnestly.  "You may be the last _black_ dragon, but you aren't the last _dragon_.   Family is about more than blood."

"I know that!  Don't patronize me with your sappy red flight sentimentality.  I'm well aware of how it feels to be close to someone, to really know them, admire them, worry about them...and then watch them die and leave you alone!"  His angry tone barely disguised the raw pain beneath.  "The more you care for someone, the more it hurts to lose them.  Why make yourself vulnerable to that kind of misery?"  Wrathion fell silent, suddenly realizing that he was divulging far more of his own feelings than he really cared to.

Cybela leaned forward, her eyebrows arching in empathy.   "Who was it?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated, then let his ire dissipate with a weary sigh. "Through the first year of my life, I had one mentor, guardian, and caretaker watching over me.   Fahrad was the closest thing to a parent I ever had.  He helped me hatch, taught me to hunt and fight, comforted me when I was upset, supported me at every turn...  At first I wasn't able to figure out _what_ he was, but eventually I realized:  he was a black dragon.  Which meant he had to die like all the others."

Cybela took a sharp intake of breath.  "Oh, no!"

"Oh yes," Wrathion said grimly, staring at his clenched fists.  "There was no cure for the Old Gods' corruption.  Those tainted by them had to be wiped out before they caused any more harm to the world.  Although Fahrad had never been anything but kind to me, I had no choice."  He swallowed hard and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to hide his despair.  "When confronted, the dark whispers took over him, as I knew they would someday.  My first champion put him down quite easily, while I--"   His voice caught in his throat, and only after swallowing again could he finish.   "I could only watch."

"How horrible," Cybela gasped.

"I know it was necessary.  Even if one of the bronze flight gave me the chance to do it over again, I would not change the outcome.  I think Fahrad even understood.  But...it was still...the worst moment...of my life."  His voice dwindled off as his breathing came in shallow gasps, and he bowed his head in embarrassment at letting himself show such emotion.

"Oh, Wrathion, I'm so sorry."  Cybela suddenly leaned forward and put her arms around him, drawing him into a tight embrace.

Unsure at first how to react, he went stone-still.  Her sympathy was almost palpable, enveloping him with calming warmth.  He held his breath as long as he could, trying to control himself, but her patience outlasted his resolve.

"It's okay," she breathed, patting him on the back.   "It's okay to feel sad.  Grief is part of healing, too."

The air in his lungs escaped with a shuddering sob, and he slumped against her in defeat.  He had not shed a tear since the day Fahrad died.   He was stronger than that.  He was the Black Prince.  He was...  He was clinging to Cybela as if she were the only dry land in a flood, crying like a baby.   Damn it.

"I'm...s-sorry," he gulped.

"Ssh.  It's all right.  You need to do this."  She put one hand on the back of his neck to hold his head on her shoulder, and ran the other hand across his quaking back.

Grateful that at least she could not see his face this way, Wrathion kept his arms locked around her and sobbed out a year's worth of loneliness, fear, frustration, bitterness and uncertainty.

"There, there," Cybela soothed, rocking slightly back and forth.  "Let it all out.  It's okay."

"I can't," he gasped.

"Yes, you can."

"I can't be weak.  I promised him I would be strong, that I could do this!"

"Tears aren't weakness, Wrathion.  They're a part of life.  Tears show you care, and if you didn't care you wouldn't be much of a guardian for Azeroth."

This made sense, which only made him cry harder.  She understood.  She put into words things that he had wanted to believe for so long, but had dismissed as wishful thinking.  He had never dreamed that he would find a red dragon's presence welcome and comforting, yet here she was.

Shame burned his cheeks as he remembered how he had treated her at first.  He had done exactly what he begged the mortal races not to do:  judge a dragon by the color of their scales.  He had threatened her, provoked her and mistrusted her, and she had still worked around the clock to nurse him back to health.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's all right."  She leaned her head against his, and he felt her breath on the side of his neck, warm as only another dragon's could be.

He knew she didn't realize what he meant, but again he choked out, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said.

He shook with fresh sobs and did not try to speak again until his emotions had run their course.  At last the tears subsided, but he remained leaning into her for a minute, reluctant to look her in the eye after such a humiliating lapse in dignity.

Perhaps sensing this, she made the first move, gently pulling away with a sympathetic smile.  "Feel better now?"

He frantically wiped tears off his cheeks with the backs of his hands, avoiding eye contact.  "Yes, I suppose.  I'm fine.  Really.   Not sure what came over me.  Must be the illness."

"Of course," she said graciously.  "I bet your headache is back in force, though."

He massaged his forehead.  "Yes, actually.  How did you know?"

"Crying does that."  She put a hand on his head and murmured a spell.  Warm light radiated from her fingers, and he suddenly smelled freshly-cut grass and wildflowers.

The pain faded, and when the magic ebbed he flopped back against his pillow.

Cybela brought a washcloth over, which he used to wipe off his face, and a handkerchief for him to blow his nose.  How did she think of all these considerate little things exactly when he needed them?

She pulled the curtain closed, shutting out most of the early afternoon sunlight.  "Get some sleep, now," she said with a kind smile.

"Cybela?"

She approached the bed again.  "Yes?"

"This never happened."

She raised an eyebrow.

Although his nose was still stuffy, his voice carried his usual commanding attitude again.  "You've _never_ seen me shed a tear.   The very idea is absurd.  Understand?"

She shook her head with a tolerant sigh.  "As my prince wishes."  She bent over and placed a quick kiss on his forehead.   "You can trust me."

A faint smile crossed his face.  His sore eyes fell shut and sleep reclaimed him within moments.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Anduin greeted Left and Right, earning the usual cranky glare from the orc and respectful nod from the human.  "Is he still sleeping?"

"We haven't heard anything from His Majesty for quite awhile," Right said.

Anduin knocked lightly and opened the door a crack.

"What?" came a muffled voice slurred by sleep.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yes, but you'd find it difficult to catch me at a time when I'm not sleeping, these days," Wrathion said with a sigh.

Anduin stepped into the room and found his friend lying on the futon with his turban tipped over his face to block out the sunlight coming through the window.

Wrathion knocked the turban aside and rubbed his red eyes.   His yawn revealed teeth far too sharp for a normal human's mouth.  "What time is it?"

"About two hours past noon.  Are you hungry?"

"Not at the moment.  Which is fortunate because I don't imagine you'd be much help hunting down a mountain goat for me."  He smirked as he sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched.

"I've gone hunting with my father before," Anduin said defensively.  "I could, if I needed to.  You should see me fire a bow sometime."

"Dragons hunt a bit differently, but no, our red-haired friend has kept me quite well fed, thank you."  He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Anduin sat down by the window, propping his cane against the small table.  "How are you feeling?"

"So much better than I was, and yet..."  He sighed deeply and studied his clasped hands.  "Not well enough.  I find myself weak as a kitten.  Simply washing up and changing my clothes left me utterly exhausted yesterday.  It was pathetic."  He scowled in self-loathing.   "But I can't afford to stay out of the loop any longer.  Too much is at stake."

"From what I've heard, things are much the same with the war.  Sporadic fighting along the beaches of Krasarang and other hotspots, but most of the focus has been on the Isle of the Thunder King.  The Kirin Tor and the Sunreavers are beseiging the Zandalari and mogu forces.  It's a mess, but it's contained to the island."

Wrathion nodded slowly.  "They won't rest until Lei Shen is dispatched permanently.  Very well.  I've been eager to take a peek at the forge and any other Titan relics the Thunder King has spirited away in his stronghold.   Once that is settled, however, it will be time to resolve this Horde/Alliance war for good."

"Meaning?"

"Apologies, Anduin.  I was thinking aloud.   I really can't give you any information that would make it seem as if I favored your Alliance.  I am neutral, remember?"

"So you say."

"I am!" he said indignantly.  "It's not my fault the Crown Prince of Stormwind keeps hanging around, butting his nose into my affairs.  You'll notice I have been just as accommodating a host to Sunwalker Dezco, and would do the same for anyone the Horde sent as a representative, I assure you."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky I was here, as it turned out."

"Indeed.  My memories are a bit jumbled through the worst of my illness, but if I haven't said it before...  Thank you, Anduin."

The human had not been expecting that.  He stammered briefly before saying, "You're welcome."

"You look surprised.  Have I ever been stingy with gratitude when others serve me well?"

"Well, no, but...  You weren't happy with me at first for bringing in an outsider.  I know you value your privacy, but with your life at stake I figured it was necessary."

The dragon prince nodded reluctantly.  "True, it wasn't ideal, but Cybela has proven to be...most interesting."

"Oh?"  Anduin perked up, wondering if Wrathion would divulge her true identity.

"She's not all she appears to be.  She has certain, shall we say, attributes that I find...potentially useful."  Wrathion carefully got to his feet, taking the time to make sure his legs would hold him before strolling over to the window where his guest sat.  Seeing the concerned look on his face, the dragon scoffed, "I know what you're thinking, but stop fretting.  I need to get up and move around to rebuild my strength.  If I get dizzy I'll go back to bed."

"All right," Anduin said with a shrug, nevertheless keeping a close eye on him for signs of wobbling.  "If Cybela says it's all right for you to be on your feet..."

"It's not her place to tell me what I can and cannot do," he said, crossing the room at a leisurely pace and then back again.  "She's not even any older--"  He cut himself off, suddenly remembering that her true species was supposed to be a secret.

"Is she still a whelp, too?" Anduin asked casually.   "I haven't seen her in her real body yet."

Wrathion twitched in surprise.   "You know what she is?"

"Yes."  The human tried not to look too smug, enjoying the other prince's startled reaction.

"You mean you _knowingly_ brought a red dragon in here?"  His eyes flashed in anger.

"I didn't know she was a dragon until after she'd already started treating you," Anduin said quickly.  "I thought she was an elf at first."

Wrathion snorted indignantly.  "Good.  I didn't think you were _that_ stupid."

Anduin rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, yes, she is a red dragon.  If you recall your ancient history, the red and black flights used to be on very friendly terms.   I'm not about to forgive the reds as a whole, but if Cybelastrasza is as benevolent as she appears to be, then perhaps it's time to renew that alliance on a small scale."

Anduin stifled a laugh.

"What's funny about that?" Wrathion asked with annoyance, pausing in his laps back and forth across the room.

"Sorry, it's just...you said 'a small scale.'  You're a small dragon, and you have scales, so...  Never mind."

"Ha.  Ha," he said flatly.  "Anyway, at first I was _most_ displeased to have one of the reds here, but she's proven herself useful enough that I see no reason to object now.   Besides, she's seen me at my absolute worst; I'd like to keep her close, if possible, so word of my weakness doesn't spread."

"You're getting a little better every day, though.   You'll be back to normal before long.  Well, 'normal' being a relative term."

Wrathion sneered at the implied insult.  "I am the _most_ normal black dragon the world has seen in millenia, thank you very much.  That is the _point._ Regardless, her unique perspective would be an asset to my ranks."

"I'm sure it's also nice to have another dragon around.   You must have been lonely before."

"No.  Why does everyone assume that?  I am far too busy to worry about such trivialities.   Besides, I can hardly be lonely when I have my Blacktalons around me at all times."

"And they're so friendly, too."

"I don't pay them to be friendly.  I pay them to protect me and my interests, to gather intelligence and act in my stead when necessary."

"But wouldn't it be nice to have someone around who's there because they like spending time with you, not because you've hired them?"

"I wasn't aware that I was paying _you_ to hang around."

Anduin laughed.  "You're not, but sooner or later duty will call me away.  I can't put my father's summons off forever, especially with a war on.  I hadn't planned on staying here as long as I have, to be honest."

Wrathion paused to straighten a bookshelf that Cybela had disturbed.  "You really find me that fascinating?" he asked with a smirk.

Anduin leaned back in his chair and grinned.  "Yes, actually.  It's not every day you get the opportunity to chat with the one and only uncorrupted black dragon in the world."

Wrathion raised his nose with a smug smile as he resumed pacing.  "I'm glad you recognize how fortunate you are to share my company."

"Oh, definitely," Anduin said, playing along with the dragon's ego.  "You're by far the most agreeable black dragon I've ever met."

Wrathion paused in mid-stride to glower at him.   "Considering Onxyia is the only other black dragon you've known, I'm not sure that's much of a compliment."

Anduin shrugged.  "You both have condescension down to an art form, but otherwise you're nothing alike."

"Well, I would certainly hope not!"  Wrathion was breathing heavier, his steps slower and less confident.

Anduin reached for his cane and stood.  "I think you've been up and about long enough.  You look tired."

"I'm fine," he said stubbornly.  "I'm just a bit rusty at this whole 'walking' business."  Realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he sighed and plopped down on the futon.  "Then again, no sense in overdoing it."

"Good idea," Anduin said, tossing a blanket over him.   "Rest up.  Cybela should be back in an hour or so with something tasty for you."

Wrathion looked discouraged by his lack of stamina, punching his pillow into shape with more aggression than it deserved.  "I'm such a weakling," he muttered.

"You're doing fine," Anduin said.  "You didn't get that run down and sick overnight, so you won't get back to full strength overnight, either."

"So you and Cybela keep saying.  But Azeroth needs me."

Anduin gave him a sympathetic smile.  "You're not the only guardian this world has.  Relax."

"Relax?"  His crimson eyes flared in agitation, and he sat up again.   "I can't relax when the people of Azeroth insist on fighting amongst themselves instead of banding together to face the Burning Legion!  I can't relax when the Old Gods still fester in the core of the world, waiting for their next chance to strike!  I can't relax when the fate of millions of lives rests on _my_ shoulders!"

"Whoa, whoa, Wrathion," Anduin said, leaning forward to put one hand on the dragon's shoulder.  "It's not all on you.  Azeroth has repelled the Burning Legion before.  Thanks to your warnings we'll be ready to do it again.  You'll worry yourself to death before the first infernal falls, at this rate."

"There's no end to them.  I've seen it.  Complete and utter desolation.  Every adult, every child, every creature on the planet will be obliterated in a hail of felfire if we don't stop them."

"It's scary, I know."

"I'm not scared!" he said, but the edge in his voice said otherwise.

"Then you're braver than I am, because the thought of a full-on demon invasion scares the piss out of me."

Wrathion gave an involuntary laugh, breaking the tension a little.  He could not recall ever hearing such crude language come from the human prince's mouth.

Anduin continued.  "You know, when the Prophet Velen told me about his visions, he said that some come true and some don't.  With the guidance of the Holy Light, a strong will to fight against evil can change the future.  It's possible that because you've shared your premonition, and worked so hard to prepare everyone, the bleak vision you saw may have already been averted."

"You think so?"  The dragon's voice softened with hope.

"Anything is possible.  All we can do is try the best we can, and trust in the Light."

"Dragons don't really deal with the Holy Light, you know."

Anduin gave him a warm smile.  "Maybe they should start."

Wrathion had no response to that.

"Get some rest, now.  The world is in good hands."

He laid back and closed his eyes.  "I hope so, Anduin.  Oh, how I hope so."

 

* * *

 

The following afternoon, Wrathion was lounging on top of the blankets on his futon, reading the book of jinyu poetry that he had been enjoying before his illness.  Cybela sat by the window, also reading one of his books.  There were still moments when having a red dragon in the same room made him vaguely uneasy, but she was her usual calm, pleasant self.  Indeed, one time she caught him watching her over the top of his book and actually had the gall to wave with an amused grin.  He snorted and lifted his book higher to block his view of her.

As the lunch of yak meat settled in his stomach, he found himself blinking heavily and yawning.  Another nap?  Really?  He was getting excruciatingly bored with all the sleeping he'd had to do lately.  There so many other, better ways he could be spending his time.

Just as he felt his head get heavier and had resigned himself to a brief snooze, there was a rushing sensation and a flash of light that momentarily blinded him.  He bolted upright, and heard Cybela cry out in alarm from somewhere far in the distance.

He was no longer in his bedroom.  He was standing atop a rocky cliff beneath a sky blanketed in roiling black clouds and fel green lightning bolts.  No!  The Legion!  He looked down and saw the valley below him teeming with rank after rank of felguards, pit lords, shivarra and other demons.  No, no, no, not yet!

A rallying cry immediately to his right made him whirl around.   A human stood beside him, clad in shining white armor.  His short hair was the same pure shade of gold as the cloak billowing behind him.  

He was older, stronger and more world-weary than the prince he knew, but those pure blue eyes were unmistakable.

"Anduin?" Wrathion said, gawking in disbelief.

The human ignored him and raised a brilliant mace high in the air.  He repeated the rallying cry, which was echoed by a roar of voices behind them.

Wrathion turned around to see a vast army stretching to the horizon.  All the races of Azeroth were present, from draenei radiant with the blessings of the naaru, to goblins riding war machines that belched black smoke.   Dragons of every flight except his own circled over the host, adding their screeches to the din.

Holy Light seemed to emanate from every inch of Anduin Wrynn, and the gathered forces all looked to him for leadership.

Wrathion glanced back at the enemy and saw the demons had stopped at the sight of them.

"What is going on?" he asked, utterly disoriented.

A winged shape dived toward him, and he flinched, expecting an attack.  In one smooth motion, a small red dragon landed, shifted into a golden-eyed elf, and threw her arms around him.  "It's all right, Wrathion," she said happily, squeezing him tight.  "We're ready.  It's going to be all right."

The sound of the army faded suddenly.  Anduin, the cliff, the demons, the lightning, everything disappeared, leaving only blackness.  The only thing that remained was Cybela's voice.  "...all right?  Wrathion?   Say something!  Are you all right?  What's the matter?"

A now-familiar rush of vertigo swept over him, and he gasped as if emerging from a long swim.

Cybela tightened her grip on his shoulders as he slumped sideways, preventing him from falling out of bed.  "Help!"

The door burst open and Left and Right hurried in, weapons drawn.  "What's happening?" barked the orc.

Cybela stammered in a panic, "He just sat up all of a sudden, staring like he was in a trance or something, and then collapsed!"

Two more sets of hands seized his limbs and lifted him back onto the bed with his head on the pillow.  He moaned and blinked rapidly to clear the dancing dots of light from his eyes.

Right's voice came from nearby.  "Did you have another vision, Your Majesty?"

"I did," he said, not even caring at the moment that his voice shook.  He pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes.  "It was about the Legion again."

His bodyguards exchanged nervous looks.

Wrathion dropped his hands and finally opened his eyes.   "We were ready this time."

Right gave a tenative smile, and Left grunted in approval.

Cybela still looked shaken, but calmed a bit as she realized he was back to normal.  

"It won't be a stroll in the park, but from what I saw, we have a chance."  Wrathion turned to look at the red-haired "elf" while Left and Right returned to their posts in the hallway.   "And you were in my vision this time."

"Me?"

"Perhaps acting as my nurse isn't the only reason you're here.  I don't know.  The visions can change, obviously.  And they aren't a perfect, literal prediction, either."  He sat up in bed, holding his stomach.

Cybela looked flattered, and put a hand on his shoulder with a wide smile.

"Right now, I just know one thing," he said.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to be sick."

Cybela dashed to get the chamber pot before the yak meat made a reappearance.

Several highly unpleasant minutes later, the Black Prince laid down again with a miserable groan.  "Sorry," he rasped.

"You poor thing," she fussed, bringing a damp cloth to wipe his face.  "You'd been doing so well, too."

"Remind me not to have any more visions on a full stomach."

"Do you have those often?"

He shook his head.  "That's only the fourth."

"Did the others come true?"

"Two have.  The two about the Legion's return...we'll have to wait and see."

"But this one was more hopeful than the first, right?"

He gazed up at her.  Red boartails drooped on either side of her face as she leaned over him, blotting the clammy skin of his face and neck with a cool cloth.  She radiated compassion and a faint floral scent.

"Yes," he said at last.  "It was."

"Let me get you something to drink."  She stood up and headed toward the door.

He wasn't sure what made him say it, but he blurted out, "Wait."

She turned back with an expectant look.  "Yes?"

"Cybelastrasza, I want you to know...  You have earned my trust, and I'm glad you're here."

She put a hand to her chest and inhaled sharply in pleasant surprise.  "Oh, Wrathion, do you mean it?"

"I do.  You have proven yourself to be an ally...and a friend.   I cannot condemn you based on which flight you belong to--not when I expect the world to judge me on my own merits and not those of my predecessors.  I must evaluate you on your actions, which so far have all been exemplary."

Her golden eyes widened at the praise, and her cheeks grew nearly as red as her hair.  "Thank you!"

"If you want a permanent place here among my Blacktalons, you have it."

Her mouth fell open.  "Really?  I can stay here with you?"

"Unless you have somewhere else to be."

Her grin faded for just a moment.  "You know I don't."

"Well, then.  Welcome aboard."

She bounced on her toes in excitement.  "I won't disappoint you, my prince!"

"See that you don't," he said with a smirk.   "Now, about that drink?"

Cybela composed herself with a deep breath.  "Of course.  Something with ginger for your stomach?"

"That would be ideal."

She made an elaborate curtsey, eyes twinkling.   "As Your Majesty wishes."

 

* * *

 

"Mail call," Anduin said, opening the door before Wrathion was even done saying "Come in."  At least he had started to knock again.  The dragon's memories were fuzzy through the worst of his illness, but he distinctly recalled the human prince barging in unannounced several times.

"Why are _you_ handling my private correspondence?" he asked, grabbing the papers out of Anduin's hands.

"One of your Blacktalons was about to bring it up, but since I was headed in this direction anyway I figured I'd save him the trip."

Wrathion carefully checked each envelope to make sure it was still sealed.

"Don't worry.  I didn't peek."

"Harumph."

"I'll tell Dezco to carry it up next time if you're worried about being too pro-Alliance."

Wrathion narrowed his eyes but said nothing, returning to his seat at the table by the window.  On the floor to his right was an overflowing box of the reports that had accumulated in his absence.   Smaller piles covered the table, and he muttered to himself as he sorted papers by location.  "Silithus...  Hyjal...  Gilneas...   Storm Peaks?  Oh good grief, I haven't even touched the Northrend file yet."  He looked up and saw Anduin still standing there.  "If you're going to loiter, at least make yourself useful and bring me that satchel by the bookcase."

The human grabbed the leather satchel and handed it to him.

"Thank you," Wrathion said absently.  He lifted the flap to browse through the contents, which were neatly separated by thin wooden dividers, each clearly labeled.

"You're awfully well organized," Anduin said, sitting down across the table.

"With the sheer volume of intelligence I amass, it's a necessity."

"Things got a little backed up while you were out of action, didn't they?"

The dragon glared at him, eyes flaring redder.   "We're not going to discuss that."  He filed some of the papers into the Northrend satchel, then put it aside and returned to the box of letters.

"What?  You were sick, you got better...nothing to be ashamed of."

"It's bad enough you had to witness my greatest moment of weakness.  I don't wish to be reminded of it."

"Hey, you're back on your feet faster than I was after my accident."  Anduin briefly hefted his cane in the air.

"Technically that was no accident.  But that is beside the point.  I do not want to dwell on my own...convalesence."

"Everyone gets sick sooner or later.  It's not a big deal."

Wrathion put down his correspondence and looked Anduin squarely in the eye.  "When you look at me now, what do you see?"

Unsure what the dragon was getting at, he hesitated.

Wrathion straightened his posture.  "Do you see the Black Prince who guides the fate of the planet?  Or do you see a pathetic, mewling whelp wrapped in a blanket like a lost puppy?"

"Neither," Anduin said truthfully.  "I see my friend, who nearly died, and I'm glad to see him back to normal."

Wrathion stared at him, completely at a loss for words.   "You're a very strange person, Anduin Wrynn," he said at last, forcing his expression back into a dismissive one.

"Probably," he said with a grin.  "No stranger than a dragon doing paperwork."

"Important paperwork."

"Anything I should know about the war?"

"If there is, no doubt your father will inform you."

Anduin leaned forward to try to read the nearest paper upside down, but Wrathion snatched it away.  

"Did I say you could look at my private papers?  Just because you saved my life doesn't mean you're suddenly entitled to all my secrets."

Anduin shrugged in surrender.

Wrathion continued sifting through his mail.  "Still nothing from my agent in the Wetlands?  It's been almost six months!  That fool better have been eaten by murlocs, because if I get my hands on him..." he grumbled.

"Where's Cybela?" Anduin asked, glancing around to see if he had missed her tucked away somewhere in her true form.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Wrathion said in a bored tone, not looking up from his mail.

"She must think you're doing better if she's willing to leave you alone."

"I _am_ doing better, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I had noticed," Anduin said with a smirk.   "Hopefully soon you'll be well enough to come downstairs.  I know everyone has missed your sunny attitude."

"I'm going to pretend you weren't being sarcastic just now," Wrathion said with an offended expression.  "But yes, I hope to make my return to society, as it were, tomorrow.  Assuming I don't have another blasted relapse."

"I heard about yesterday."

"How did _you_ know about that?"

"Cybela told me."

"Damn her," Wrathion grumbled.  "And it's about time I got a report from my agent in Darkshore," he added, still sorting the mail.

"She wasn't spreading tales.  I asked how you were, and she told me.  Sorry as I was to hear that you got sick like that, I have to admit the news that you'd had another vision caught my attention the most.  Things looking a little less ominous with the Legion?"

Wrathion finally looked up from his letters, red eyes meeting blue.  The memory of the older, wiser Anduin from his vision flashed across his mind, superimposed over the fresh-faced youth in front of him.  The human prince had a lot to do and learn before he matched the radiant leader at the head of the Army of Light.

At length, the dragon smiled.  "Yes, my dear prince, things are indeed looking more hopeful on that front.  There are some pieces on the game board now that were not there the last time I had a vision.  I believe they may be the ones to tip the balance in our favor."

Anduin raised an eyebrow, but Wrathion did not elaborate.   "Well, that's good to hear," he said.  "See, I told you everything would work out."

"Things may change again.  But for now...we can focus on more immediate matters.  Such as, why in the name of all things holy did my agent in the Undercity use an envelope stained with that horrible green slime?!  Ugh!  I pay her well enough to buy decent stationery.  Really!"  He kept the letter and tossed the offending envelope out the window.

"You have agents all over the place, don't you?"

"Yes, well, it never hurts to keep tabs on certain hotspots."  He turned over the stack of papers nearest to the other prince.   "But if you think I'm going to give you any intelligence that would affect the outcome of the war, you're sadly mistaken."

"You're not _really_ neutral, are you?" Anduin asked rhetorically.  "One particular side winning fits better with your plans.  You're just not saying which side that is."

"Maybe, maybe not.  If my plans for the future of Azeroth require you to know about something, then I will tell you.  Rest assured, I do want what is best for the world as a whole."

"I know.  You dropped something."

Wrathion looked down and saw a scrap of paper on the floor a few inches from the curved toe of his shoe.  Without a second thought, he bent down to pick it up.  The sudden change in elevation sent his head reeling and he fell on one knee, gripping the edge of the table with one hand to keep from hitting his forehead.

Anduin was there in an instant, steadying him and helping him into a chair.  "Whoa, take it easy," he said.

"I'm fine," Wrathion snapped.  "Just lost my balance for a moment."

Anduin remained standing in front of him until he was satisfied that the dragon wasn't going to pass out, then returned to his own chair.

Wrathion recovered quickly, shuffling handfuls of paper seemingly at random.  "Now then, what were we discussing?"

"Your supposed neutrality."

"Ah, yes.  The scope of my plans is greater than the Horde or the Alliance.  If I am _pro_ anything, consider me pro-Azeroth."

Anduin smiled.  "I do."

"Good."  Wrathion picked up a stack of paper and tapped it against the table to even the edges.  "Now that that's established, you must have some royal duty to attend to...?"

The human conceded with a bow of his head.  "I'll find something.  Take care."  He rose with the aid of his cane and headed for the door.

"Do shut the door tightly when you leave," Wrathion said without looking up from his correspondence.

Anduin knew he should have been annoyed, but just shook his head fondly.  "Of course."

 


	8. Chapter 8

Every eye in the tavern turned toward the stairs as the Black Prince made his grand entrance.  Left and Right descended first, followed by Wrathion in all his regal finery.  "Good morning, champions," he said with a casual wave.  "It's good to see so many of you alive and well."  He crossed the room to his usual table and sat down facing the sea of curious faces.  "I do apologize if my absence worried or inconvenienced any of you.  However, as you can see, I have returned and am eager to get caught up on your latest exploits."

At this, at least thirty adventurers sprang to their feet and clamored for his attention, many holding out handfuls of mogu artifacts or written reports.

Wrathion raised a gloved hand.  "Please, please, let's do this in an orderly fashion.  Alliance heroes on the right, Horde heroes on the left.  I will see one from each faction, in turn.  Does someone have a coin?"

A female draenei held out a shiny bit of silver with the Dalaran crest on it.

"Thank you, champion.  Heads, we start with a member of the Horde, and, in honor of your lovely appendage, tails for Alliance."

The draenei giggled shyly.

Wrathion flipped the coin, which landed heads up.   "Horde it is, then."  He handed the silver coin back to the draenei and turned to the goblin beside her.  "Now then, what wonders have you retrieved for me, champion?"

Over by the stairs, Cybela and Anduin watched with silent amusement.  At last, the red-haired "elf" could hold her tongue no longer, and she whispered, "Wow.  What a performance."

Anduin stifled a laugh.  "He knows how to make an impression."

"It must work.  There are people lined up halfway to the auction house to talk to him."  She shook her head in wonder.  "He speaks as if each one of them is his personal champion.  Don't they realize he says that to everyone?"

"People hear what they want to hear," Anduin murmured, leaning against the side of the stairs to take weight off his sore leg.

They listened as Wrathion finished dealing with the goblin and effortlessly switched to the draenei language to greet the next visitor.

"That helps, too," Anduin added.

"How many languages does he speak?"

"As many as he needs to, to charm people into doing what he wants them to do."

Cybela raised an eyebrow, impressed.    "And...what does he want them to do?"

The draenei opened her backpack and handed several ancient stone tablets to the Black Prince, who fawned over them as if they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen.

"Mainly gather information about the mogu and their Titan technology, from what I can tell," Anduin whispered.

"To what end?"

"If you figure that out, let me know."  The human frowned.

"You don't trust him?"

"To a point.  I do believe he has Azeroth's best interests at heart.  I'm just not sure about some of the methods he might use along the way."

"Yet you worked very hard to save his life."

Anduin smiled and shrugged.  "I don't have to agree with everything he does to count him as a friend.  In fact, it's good to have different viewpoints around.  Keeps your brain from getting stagnant.   Plus..."

He paused, and Cybela glanced at him curiously.

Anduin's expression grew more somber.   "Maybe I can keep him from going too far."

Cybela nodded, not admitting that she had had the same thought.   She settled back on a stool to watch the Black Prince hold court.  Anduin soon excused himself to attend to his own concerns.

Wrathion acquitted himself very well the first hour, but after that she could tell his smile was strained, his laughs just a bit too forced, his gaze not quite as focused as it should have been.  By noon his posture had degraded to leaning heavily on the table, and his bombastic speeches had dwindled to shorter, more practical discussions.

At last, Cybela could not stand idly by any longer.  She strode confidently across the room and stood to the side of his table.  Right and Left gave her suspicious looks, but she did not spare the guards so much as a glance.

Wrathion shook hands with a night elf priestess and sent her on her way with a very shiny gemstone.  Before he could address the orc waiting next in line, Cybela cleared her throat and announced in an official voice, "His Majesty the Black Prince Wrathion will be taking a lunch break now.  He thanks you for your patience, and will be glad to grant you an audience when he returns in one hour."

"What are you--" he hissed, but she took him by the arm and marched toward toward the stairs.  To make it look like this was his own idea, he was forced to come along.  The gathered champions grumbled in disappointment and began to disperse.  "You can't just--" he tried again, stumbling on the top step as she refused to let go of his arm.  She opened the door to his room, practically shoved him through it, and bumped it shut with her hip.

"You need to lie down," she said finally.

"You can't _do_ that!" he snarled.

"I just did," she said, walking him backward until his legs touched the futon.  "Unless you would rather pass out in front of your champions."

"I'm better now," he protested.

"You're at least three shades paler than you should be.   Now _rest_."

"I'm fine," he insisted.

She only had to push down on his epaulets the slighest bit before his shaking knees failed him and he slumped onto the mattress.  His turban fell off his head as he tumbled, landing upside-down beside his hip.

"Well, maybe a short rest wouldn't hurt," he sighed, covering his eyes with his forearm.  "Remind me to yell at you for this atrocious breach of protocol when I'm feeling better."

"Of course."  She picked up his turban and set it carefully on the bedside table, trying to unravel as little of it as possible.  "Now, would you like something to eat?"

"I suppose."  His tone made it seem as if he would be doing _her_ a favor by eating lunch.

"I'll see what I can find.  Don't move until I get back."

"I'll stay still if the room promises to do the same," he said, blinking dizzily before rubbing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Thanks to the involuntary lunch break, Wrathion was able to attend to most of his visitors by the time evening fell.  A few grew impatient and left, but he wasn't concerned.  The promise of rich rewards would lure them back the next day, no doubt. 

Tong served thick, juicy turtle steaks for supper, and although Cybela insisted he take his extra rare, she did not protest when he wanted to eat downstairs with Anduin and Dezco.

Wrathion chafed at the idea of depending on Cybela's approval, but she had the annoying habit of being right about nearly everything.  She sat beside him at the table, subtly controlling what reached his plate.  Anything she disapproved of got passed right by him, and she took it upon herself to spoon out whatever portions she did allow him to have.

He caught Anduin watching with a broad grin that threatened to break into laughter at any moment.  Wrathion raised a challenging eyebrow, daring him to comment.  Anduin merely shrugged and turned his attention to his own plate.

Beside him sat Sunwalker Dezco.  "I don't believe we've been introduced," he rumbled.

Cybela looked up in brief alarm at the deep voice, then relaxed when she realized it was the Tauren speaking.  "Oh, forgive me.  I'm Cybela."  She reached across the table to shake, her delicate pink hand completely disappearing inside the Tauren's massive paw.

"I am Dezco, Sunwalker and emissary of the Horde."

"Pleased to meet you.  I'm here to help the Black Prince with some...issues."

Wrathion shot her a withering look, warning her not to elaborate.

"Ah," Dezco said, nodding slowly.   "I...see."  He gave Wrathion a sly smile.  

The dragon was oblivious, but Anduin realized what the Tauren was implying and hastened to comment.  "It's not what you're thinking.   She's a healer specializing in dragons.  Wrathion's been sick."

"We aren't going to discuss that," Wrathion said firmly, glaring at both Anduin and Cybela.

"Wait," she said with a befuddled expression, "what did you mean by that?  It's not what he's thinking?  What isn't?"

Anduin stammered awkwardly for a moment before covering his eyes with one hand and slouching back in his chair.  "I keep forgetting how young you two are."

"What?" Wrathion snapped.

"I was just making sure Dezco understood that you aren't, you know, sleeping together."

Laughter rumbled from the Tauren's throat.  "No offense.   You just seemed...close."

Cybela blinked several times, still not catching on.   "But we are.  I've slept in his room every night I've been here."

Anduin unsuccessfully tried to mask his guffaw with a drink of water and ended up nearly choking.

It suddenly dawned on Wrathion what the others meant.   "It's not like _that_ ," he said quickly.

"Like _what_?" Cybela asked, growing irritated.

"Just...never mind.  I'll tell you later," Wrathion said, fervently hoping that he wasn't blushing as badly as he suspected he was.

"I'm so confused," Cybela huffed.  "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Anduin assured her.  "You're fine.   It's nothing.  We're sorry.  Forget it."

They were mostly finished with their meal by this time, and Tong came around to refill everyone's teacups.

"So," Dezco said, shifting his weight so that the poor wooden bench creaked beneath him.  "Any news from the Isle of Thunder?"

Anduin took the bait and helped to change the subject. "Last I heard they had broken through the final gate and breached the front of Lei Shen's palace.  There are Zandalari in the way but our forces are preparing a full-on assault."

"I have heard much the same," the Tauren said.   "Many brave warriors will fall before the Thunder King is destroyed."

"I'm afraid so," Anduin said with a solemn nod.   "But Lei Shen must be stopped.  With the combined might of the mogu and the Zandalari at his back, there's no telling what he could do to Pandaria or even beyond."

Wrathion sipped his tea and stared into the cup as if divining answers there.  "Formidable though the troll and mogu forces are, I would be more concerned about the Titan technology at Lei Shen's disposal.  If some of my suspicions bear fruit, he could wreak catastrophic damage."

"Like what?" Anduin asked, blue eyes wide with alarm.

"Lei Shen is a clever devil," Wrathion said with a smirk.  "But not as clever as he thinks he is, and not as clever as the Titans.   But then, none of us are.  I'm afraid I don't have many specifics.  Just know that preventing the Thunder King from moving forward with _any_ of his plans is imperative."  He set down his cup and stood slowly to ward off any dizziness.   "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall retire for the night.   It's been a long, if productive, day."

Cybela nodded to both Anduin and Dezco and hurried to follow the Black Prince as he began to climb the stairs on unsteady feet.

 

* * *

 

"You made it," Cybela said proudly, shutting the door behind them.

Wrathion dragged his feet as he stumbled toward the futon.   "Barely."  He used his last ounce of energy to shift back into a whelp and then made a belly-flop onto the pillow.  "I'm absolutely exhausted."

The window was only open a crack, but she shivered at the chilly air leaking in and shut it tightly.  "Supper seemed to go all right.  How's your stomach?"

"So far so good," he mumbled, already sounding drowsy.

"Wonderful."  She pulled the blanket over the whelp, tucking it around him carefully.  "Are you warm enough?"

"Never.  Stupid pandaren architecture, with no fireplaces...what are they thinking?"

She grabbed a second blanket from the bureau and spread it over the futon.  "So what in the world were they talking about earlier?  Something about sleeping together?  What was that about?"

He opened his eyes and wrinkled his nose in hesitation.   "Well, it's silly, honestly, and rather embarrassing."

"After everything we've been through in the last couple of weeks, I don't think there's anything left to be embarrassed about," she teased, gesturing at the chamber pot.

"Oh dear Khaz'goroth, don't remind me," he grumbled.   "Nevertheless, there is one source of awkwardness we have not yet touched upon."

She gave him a blank look.

He sighed.  "Dezco was under the mistaken impression that you and I are lovers."

Cybela looked as if someone had dumped ice water down the back of her blouse.  "What?"

"When two people start sharing a bedroom, that is a reasonable assumption," he said grudgingly.

"But we're just whelps!" she said with disgust.   As if to illustrate her point, she returned to her true form and perched on the edge of the futon.

"Yes, but they forget that because of the way we look in our mortal forms.  A necessary evil, I'm afraid.  I tried presenting myself with a more accurate approximation of my age, and everyone treated me like a child.  I must look more mature to accomplish anything."

"I discovered the same thing when I first left the Ruby Dragonshrine.  People saw a little elf girl and assumed I was lost and looking for my parents."

The vague reminder of their orphaned status made them both pause somberly.

"Cybela?"

"Yeah?"

"I understand that whelps such as ourselves, those who are _supposedly_ too young to be on their own, I mean, well...they typically sleep in a pile for warmth, correct?"

"Uh-huh.  Under a parent's wing for the first few months, and in a group with multiple clutches of siblings later on."   She studied her toes, struggling to retain her usual cheerfulness.  "Or so I've been told," she added quietly. 

"I imagine it's something to do with being too small to properly regulate our own body temperatures while asleep."

"I guess."

"Hmm.  Bring chilled can't be good for me when I'm not back to full strength yet."

Cybela made a move toward the bureau for another blanket, but Wrathion's voice stopped her.  

"I don't know if _two_ whelps constitute a 'pile,' but...we could try.  See how it goes.  If you want to."

She turned back to him with a confused frown.   "What?"

He looked away and stammered, "It was just a thought.   If...  If you don't want to, that's quite all right.  I understand.   I was just curious, you know, and..."  He coughed in embarrassment.

She brightened immediately when she realized what he meant.  "Of course!"  She flew back toward the bed and landed next to him.  "Your room _is_ awfully chilly."

"It really is, isn't it?  Just dreadful," he said with an awkward laugh.  

She burrowed under the blanket and cuddled up to him with a happy trilling noise.  He wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to do, but she nudged her head under his chin and twisted her tail around one of his legs, then wrapped her arms around him.

"Mmm, cozy," she said.  "Is this okay?"

"It's...strange," he admitted.   "But yes."

She squeezed him tighter, letting their combined warmth envelop them both.  "Good night, Wrathion."

He allowed himself to relax and put one arm across her shoulders.  "Good night, Cybelastrasza."


End file.
